What Hearts Will Bare
by Lost Triforce
Summary: Solas breaks the Inquisitor's heart, leaving her lost and alone. However, with a surprising revelation from Cole, and the guidance of a certain Tevinter Altus, Elenora Lavellan realizes love and happiness may not yet be lost to her. Follows the story of Inquisition until Trespasser. Complete, 12/13.
1. Chapter 1

From her balcony Elenora could hear the mirth of soldiers stumbling in and out of Herald's Rest, laughter and drunken shouts peeling out over the mountains encompassing Skyhold. On another night she may have been tempted to join them, or otherwise just enjoy the sound of her army finding some peace in the midst of war. Tonight, however, was different.

On this night the sounds of merry-making only further embittered the elf, her foul mood seeming to seep into the very stone of her bedroom. The half-drunken bottle of wine she'd been clutching to clunked down on the table roughly as she shoved back in her chair, moving quickly to slam the doors to her balcony shut. The movement of her night gown caught her eye in the floor length mirror that sat across from her bed.

She was a mess. The ember-red hair that she typically kept tightly braided to her scalp in a similar fashion to Cassandra's was now a flowing mess of knots and sweat trailing down to her waistline. Her normally deep brown skin- skin which made it clear the elf was also part Tevinter- had taken on a nasty green hue as well as being slick with sweat. Her sharp yellow eyes were puffy and rimmed red from crying, tear stains tracking her cheeks, the only markings on her face where the elaborate gold tattoos tying her to Mythal had once been.

_ Once_, she thought painfully, flopping heavily back into her chair before resuming her assault on the Antivan vintage, _before he undid me._

Elenora's thoughts had been heavy with the vision of Solas and her beside the lake, his hands winding around her impossibly slim waist, gripping her ass in that cheeky way only he could, his mouth hot and needy on hers, tongues dancing together in a waltz only they knew. Then he drew back, a warm hand ghosting over her face, the marks that tied her to her goddess and her clan removed with so little effort the irony could not be missed.

And then he was gone.

His excuses, if they could be called that, were pathetic. A babbling of nonsensical apologies about how he couldn't do this, wouldn't distract her from her work as the Inquisitor. Elenora wished she had pushed him away, slapped him, called him names, but to her horror as she took another burning chug of wine, she'd _begged. _She pleaded, apologized, asked what she'd done to push him away. To her dismay he gave no answer, only told her that her groveling was making it harder for _him, _the bastard.

She'd had no time to process what had happened. There was a war table meeting to be held- an attack on Adamant was absolutely unavoidable now after discovering the Wardens had fallen prey to demons and the ministrations of Corypheus. Even with that threat lingering, preparations were to be made for a damn ball of all things— yes, to protect Celine from an assassination attempt, but appearances were to be kept. Orlesian customs and dances had to be learned, and somehow the Inquisitor managed not to break under the monotony of planning it all. But as soon as she was able to break away, she fled to her rooms and sobbed and drank and sobbed some more. Now, with no tears left to cry she was just angry. Angry for allowing herself to believe that the few stolen moments they'd shared between Haven and Skyhold meant anything. Angry that she'd been 'distracted' as Solas so lamely put it. Angry that she allowed herself to believe she was worthy of anything resembling happiness.

She whirled from the desk once more, slamming open drawers, in search of something. She found it quickly: light but dangerous, the poison dagger that she'd brought to Heir in order to prove herself worthy of training as an assassin. She found the tasks to be silly: taking out a few assassin guild members, traipsing through sand dunes in search of deathroot— but in all honesty she enjoyed the sort of 'hunt'. It was what she did for Clan Lavellan: Hunt and lead, spying on the shemlen surrounding their clan when necessary. A painful thought struck her as she realized it was precisely that spying that resulted in her acquiring the mark, and the rather shameful moniker of 'Herald of Andraste'. An elf, scion to the Maker's bride and leading the Divine Inquisition. And now, to make matters worse, a Dalish without her clan markings. She was an island alone now.

_ Alone_

With a choked sob she brought the dagger to her throat and paused. The Inquisition needed her. Thedas needed her. It would be selfish to throw her life away, pining after some damned apostate and his petty excuses. But in that moment of pain she couldn't be bothered to care or see the bigger picture. She just wanted the hurt to _end—_

Downstairs there was a panicked banging on her door. Sighing, she returned the knife to its hiding place amongst her things, calling for the untimely intruder to enter, though before she got the word out she could already hear the door swinging open. She was opening her mouth to protest the intrusion before she found herself surprised at the sight of Cole, wringing his hands and looking mortified.

Elenora slumped onto the end of her bed, too tired and angry to deal with the spirit and its riddles.

"Speak, demon."

Cole flinched at this. The Inquisitor was one of the few people in Skyhold who enjoyed the boy's company, not seeing him as a threat. In this state of mind, however, she could not stop the biting words, lashing out, needing to release the fury and pain somehow.

"_A book, well worn and beloved, the pages practically memorized, but now the words swim, meaningless. I love her, but I can't do this_—"

"But why?!" Elenora snapped, baring sharp, elven teeth. "Why can't he?"

"_An ancient pain too old and to engrained to bare. No one can know. No one can help_—"

"_Cole."_

Elenora rose from the bed and rounded on the boy. She was small, but as she stood nearly chest to chest with her fellow rogue, she was menacing.

"Unless you can give me better answers than he did, you're only making things worse."

Seeing him flinch again, she backed away, sighing and running her hand through her bedraggled hair.

"Cole," She started again, softer now, voice breaking. "Please. I hurt. I hurt and I don't know if I'll ever stop hurting. Don't speak to me of Solas. If you have something you think will help, I'll hear it out. Otherwise I'm very tired and need to rest. We have a siege to plan."

Cole's frown deepened, but he steadied himself, head cast down at the floor, his hat hiding the entirety of his face. He was thinking, searching, looking for something to pull lose the barbed wire that coiled around Lavellan's heart.

"_There's... singing. Soft and sweet, it's beautiful and foreign, in the tongue that Dorian speaks when he swears, but her words soothe like honeyed tea to an aching throat. It's her. Maker, she is beautiful, and the tune won't leave his head. He hums it to himself later, soft, like a prayer_."

Elenora frowned at this. She'd been in the garden before meeting with Solas, enjoying the unseasonably warm weather in the mountains and singing an old Tevene lullaby her mother had taught her when she was young. She'd thought the garden was empty, that no one would hear her, and so she sang the song to the flowers and the wind. She was happy then, before Solas asked to speak with her.

"Cole? Who—"

But the spirit was gone, leaving her to stay up the rest of the night, wondering who it was that pined for the Inquisitor.


	2. Chapter 2

"And, 1, 2, 3, 1, 2, 3— excellent Inquisitor, you're a natural!"

The day after Elenora's breakdown brought work as usual. The siege of Adamant was to take place in 3 weeks as the soldiers prepared, supplies were gathered, and tactical planning was being finalized. Until then there were rifts to seal, favor to be gained, and, of course, the ball to prepare for.

The Inquisition would have less than a day after returning from Adamant before heading to Orlais to defend or upend Celine's claim to the throne, so all etiquette and planning for the evening had to take place concurrently with the plans against the Warden stronghold. That afternoon, Elenora and the other members of the inner circle found themselves practicing a basic Orlesian waltz at the direction of Josephine, Leliana, and Vivienne.

The Inquisitor rolled her eyes at Josephine's praise, eyes catching the mischievous smirk Dorian was baring, his arms wrapped respectfully around a grimacing Cassandra. Elenora herself was gliding effortlessly with Blackwall, surprised to find the warrior swift on his feet, easily guiding her through the steps.

It had been an awkward conversation with Josephine to quietly request Solas not be her dance partner, a tense moment stolen in the war room before convening in the ambassador's office with the others. Josephine seemed surprised by the request, but acquiesced, placing her with the Warden and instead pairing Solas with Sera, much to Elenora's rather petty amusement. It was silly to take joy in Solas's misery as Sera stomped— seemingly purposefully— on his toes, missing every cue and turn, but she felt he rather deserved it for making her break down the way she had.

As Dorian and Elenora spun past each other Dorian couldn't help remarking "You make a rather lovely pair, the two of you. Despite Blackwall being a great hairy beast."

Blackwall snorted at the insult made in jest, spinning the Inquisitor away as a lump formed in her throat.

"_Maker, she is beautiful."_

The memory of Cole's words plagued her. Did Dorian know something she didn't? Was it Blackwall that had heard her singing in the garden, her song consuming his mind?

Elenora shook the thought from her head as quickly as it came. It was well-spread gossip that the ambassador had caught the Grey Warden's eye. It could not be Blackwall that had heard her. But that made her even more frustrated. What did it matter who had grown to see her in a less-than-chaste light? What would she do once she found out? Pounce on the man and force him to confess his love? And then what? The fact that someone was infatuated with her was more a salve to her wounded pride than anything else. What did it matter who the thoughts belonged to?

The music finally slowed to a halt, Maryden placing her violin gently into it's case and waving a short goodbye to the inner circle and advisors. Slowly everyone filed out of the room, all groaning as Josephine called out that their next lesson would take place tomorrow afternoon.

"A moment of your time, dear Inquisitor?"

It was Dorian again, his signature smirk fixed in place, but the genuine concern in his eyes betrayed his casual attitude.

"Of course. My quarters?"

"A private rendez-vous with the Inquisitor in her personal quarters? My my, what _will _people say?"

Elenora laughed at this, a genuine chuckle that made the heaviness in her heart lift somewhat as they climbed the stairs to her bedroom. Since recruiting the mages and escaping the dark vision of the future, she and the Tevinter had become fast friends, nearly inseparable. There was something easy about the harmless flirting with Dorian, and both enjoyed the incredulous looks they received from the Chantry mothers and soldiers when Elenora was bold enough to sit in his lap or take long walks with him arm in arm. The popular rumor before journeying to Skyhold was that the two were romantically involved, but after being spotted multiple times in compromising positions with Solas, that rumor died. It didn't prevent people from believing the Altus had an undue influence over the Herald, but the two could care less about that. Dorian was used to being a pariah, and it was comforting to speak with someone who spoke the same tongue as him.

Again, Cole's words surged to the forefront the Inquisitor's mind. Someone who prayed to the Maker and found her _foreign. _It didn't do much to solve the mystery. Nearly everyone in the South was Andrastian. Furthermore, elves of Tevene blood were considered exotic to anyone outside of the nation of Magisters: plenty of elven slaves in Minrathous bore suspiciously dark skin, the result of masters taking the worst kind of advantage of their wards. Even still, Elenora was a rather special case. Her mother was only half Tevene, a city elf that had lived in Orlais, traveling and living under the tutelage of a moderately high ranking noble. It was said some unspoken incident drew her away from life in the city, leaving for the Free Marches to join the then-burgeoning Clan Lavellan, where she now served as the clan's spiritual leader, second in power only to the Keeper.

Elenora was pulled from her reverie as Dorian balked at the sight of her disheveled room.

"My apologies. It was...a difficult night, last night."

"Yes well, I'm afraid that may be related to what I wanted to ask you."

She swallowed hard, waiting for Dorian's question to come. She could try to hide her disinvolvement with Solas from everyone else, but with her markings gone and the perhaps too-obvious display that afternoon of not dancing with her assumed lover, the questions were sure to come eventually.

"I couldn't help but notice your rather austere choice in dance partner this afternoon."

"Yes...I... asked Josephine if she wouldn't mind placing me with someone else."

"I did notice as well that you seemed to be fleeing the war room yesterday evening. I thought perhaps you were running from how terribly dull all this Warden-talk is, but when you didn't appear at the Herald's Rest I grew concerned. Combine that with your lack of facial adornments and well... this," Dorian mused, gesturing widely at the distressing state of the Inquisitor's room, "I don't mean to pry, but I do consider you a rather dear friend. I only mean to say that I'm worried."

Elenora let out a puff of a breath, shaking her head ever so slightly.

"No, I know. I'm going to have to talk about it eventually. I...Solas...Solas..."

She choked on his name, unable to continue as her face crumpled. She turned away, hating herself as hot tears escaped her eyes, running down her face and chin. She swiped at them violently, angry red marks appearing on her deep brown cheeks as she tried to stop them from falling.

"Mythal damn it all, I am _so. SICK. _of crying."

Dorian swore under his breath as he swept across the room to hold the Inquisitor, running a hand soothingly down her back as the events of the last evening poured from her lips. The lake, the true meaning of the vallaslin, Solas leaving her, drinking miserably in her room, pulling the knife on herself (Dorian gasped at this, pulling back and staring into the Inquisitor's eyes with a look that mirrored a wounded bird), and finally Cole's revelation that someone else cared for her.

It took a moment for Dorian to contemplate all he'd heard, but only a moment.

"Several things: One, I'm going to throttle that elf the next time I have the opportunity. Two, you are much too important to all of us to ever even consider harming yourself. Do come find me the next time you should feel so inclined. And Three, if there's someone in Skyhold who fancies you, this is certainly news to me. I hadn't an inkling that anyone but that Maker-damned elf had eyes for you."

Elenora nodded and slumped yet again onto the end of her bed, too spent with emotion to stand any longer.

"I don't have the slightest idea who it might be, and it infuriates me. And infuriates me that I should even care. What does it matter?"

Dorian sat beside her, letting out a dry laugh.

"It matters because when you fail in love once, you're all too eager to try again. To hope. But if there is someone hoping to know you in the carnal sense, I do hope _this _one is worthy. You were always too good for that sad little hobo, amatus."

The Inquisitor felt herself warming at the term of endearment. It was a word she only heard her mother use, and the sound of it brought back pleasant memories of home in the Free Marches.

Suddenly Dorian stood, eyes sweeping over the messy room, clearly in search of something.

"Where is it?"

It took Elenora only a moment to realize what he was referring to. The knife.

Swallowing down shame and bile that was threatening to escape her lips, she walked over to the dresser, pulling the dagger from its hiding place. She handed it to Dorian who looked it over briefly, a disturbed look on his face as he tucked it away.

"I'm keeping this for now. I meant what I said, amatus. I have seldom few friends these days, and I intend to keep the ones I do have."

The Inquisitor only gave a curt nod of understanding, allowing herself to be pulled into a brief hug before Dorian departed.

Once more she sank into her bed, head swimming, ignoring how foreign her bed felt to her without the other elf in it. She distracted herself from the thought by wondering if someone else would fill the space.

There was a cold chill through the room, and the odd feeling one gets when being watched. Though she was too tired to open her eyes, she knew the presence was that of Cole, ghosting his way back into her room.

"_She's ever so graceful, cat-like and serene as she dances with the Warden. What must it feel like to dance with her? To have a hand about her waist? Andraste preserve me, I must not think such things_."

And as quickly as he'd come, Cole was gone.

As if zapped by lightning, Elenora leapt from her bed, eyes widening. The thoughts belonged to someone whom had been in Josephine's office during their dancing lesson. That narrowed the scope down considerably.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I missed an upload this week, and this chapter is rather short, so I'm uploading two. Thank you all for reading/following/faving, it means the world.**

Two days after speaking to Dorian about that clandestine night, Elenora found herself returning to the gardens. It was cold this day, and she wrapped her cloak tightly about herself, nodding greetings to the many people crowded in the small courtyard. Her mind spun through the events of the past two days: more planning, more avoiding her ex-lover (which was easy as he appeared to be avoiding her, too), more answering questions about her missing tattoos, and, of course, more wondering at who it was that had fallen for her.

It was that thought that had brought her to the gardens and had consumed her so much so that she nearly slammed into Mother Giselle, who was making a beeline for her.

"I don't know where my head is at. Forgive me, Revered Mother, what can I do for you?"

The Chantry mother only frowned deeply, reaching into her robes for something.

"There is a letter you must read."

/

The entire trip to Redcliffe had been a disaster.

The Inquisitor wasted little time bringing the letter to Dorian after reading that Halward Pavus had sent a "family retainer" to speak to him, blatantly ignoring the advice of Mother Giselle to keep it secret. Dorian took on a stony constitution from then on, only speaking when necessary and not saying a single word on the long ride into town. Neither expected the retainer to actually be Dorian's father, and to say the reunion was tense was putting it lightly. Elenora already knew that Dorian preferred the company of men— a conversation they'd had long ago in Haven's ramshackle tavern over ale. To try to change that about Dorian for the sake of keeping up appearances, and with blood magic no less— the thought sickened the elf.

Dorian dismounted his horse the moment they reached the gates of Skyhold. Elenora was glad to have convinced Dorian to stay, to hear out his father's apologies, but forgiveness was something that took time. As she took the horses back to the stables she found the hairs on the back of her neck standing up, a slow, familiar tune playing in her ears as someone nearby hummed.

The lullaby.

She left the stables in a rush, nearly bowling over Blackwall and speeding past Dennet, trying to follow the sound. The person humming must have been moving fast as she could hardly keep up, running up the stairs past the healers and back to the main threshold of the keep. But as quickly as she heard the song, it was gone, lost in the clash of swords and grunts from the soldiers training.

She felt her face grow hot, feeling stupid that she'd even allowed her thoughts to turn toward her secret admirer while her friend was hurting so. Feeling rather foolish, she entered the main tower of the keep, pointedly ignoring Solas's gaze as she made her way to the library nook that Dorian was so fond of. She found him turned away from the room, gazing out the window over the gardens, lost in thought. He didn't turn even as she approached him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Are you alright?"

Elenora saw his throat bob as he swallowed, shaking his head so slightly it was nearly imperceptible.

"No, not really. But I will be."

The Inquisitor sighed, joining him in looking out over the gardens, the glass covered in mountain frost.

"Funny how much you and I have in common, really."

"Both dashing Tevinter outcasts with proclivities towards men?"

She let herself chuckle at that, allowing Dorian to try and lighten the mood with his cavalier attitude.

"Well there's that, yes. I really meant our fathers. Far overstepping the bounds of decency to maintain some pathetic legacy."

Dorian quirked a brown at this, considering the small woman.

"Don't tell me your father has a penchant for blood magic rituals, too?"

"No, he lacks the talent for magic. But it was still vile, and he still tried to change me."

"Did he?"

"Believe me, if it had worked I wouldn't be here right now."

Dorian pulled a book off of the shelf, opening it to reveal it was hollow, containing a small bottle of expensive-looking wine and two miniscule goblets.

"A toast, then. To foul fathers and even fouler deeds."

"And to pressing forward regardless."

"Fools that we are."

They both laughed as glasses clinked and wine was downed in one go. For all the ill there was in their pasts, they were glad at least to have each other.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: This chapter contains violence against a minor.**

It was full steam ahead towards Adamant from then on. The path to the keep was long and grueling, but the camps they made at night along the desert track kept morale up. Hawke, the Champion of Kirkwall, had come with not only Warden Stroud, but his lover as well: An odd and rather menacing elf named Fenris. Most of the soldiers were doing their best to avoid the lyrium-imbued warrior who seemed to want to be left to his own devices. When Fenris ran into Dorian there had been quite a standoff, Fenris spewing vitriol at the Altus while Dorian simply listened, his signature smirk fixed firmly on his face.

"Yes yes, all these insults are entirely true. Tevinter is a shithole, but a beautiful shithole with a lot of potential to do and be better, if only the other Magisters would remove their heads from their asses long enough to see it. As it is, they won't, and therefore I have every intention of removing their heads myself and replacing said heads with my boot."

Fenris was quiet for a moment, and then a slow grin stretched across his face.

"Oh this one...this one I like."

The two clapped hands, and soon enough were sat across from each other at the camp, drinking.

Elenora greedily lapped up the tales they shared of Tevinter, secretly longing to have seen the place for some time. Fenris was unsurprised to hear of her lineage, and even offered that he may have known the family to whom her maternal grandmother may have once belonged. As they spoke, Hawke lay with his head in Fenris's lap, the elven warrior lazily stroking at his messy hair with an armor-clawed hand.

The days stretched on, long and hot, before finally they were before the ancient keep. The beginning of the battle was won easily, Cullen's genius tactical planning utilizing their troops in the smartest possible way. Together Elenora, Cassandra, Dorian, and Varric blazed their way through the stronghold to the Warden-Commander; Hawke, Fenris, and Stroud hot on their heels. Everything was going to plan.

Then the archdemon appeared. And suddenly the seven of them were falling into the abyss, through the Fade.

Elenora had known fear demons, niggling things that climbed into your darkest thoughts and brought them to light, but the one that taunted them with Corypheus's voice was nothing like anything she'd faced before. Baring down, she traversed the horrid landscape with her companions, ignoring the biting jests and following the spirit calling itself the former Divine towards the exit.

Finally the demon grew tired of being ignored, and the ground beneath them shook and split, putrid green light pouring forward.

"I have seen your heart, Inquisitor, and it is _mine."_

Before the group stretched the vision of a sort of gallows, a wooden post erupting from the center of it, and tied steadfastly to it was a quivering elf with a mess of red hair.

Elenora stopped dead in her tracks, as did the others. No doubt they all recognized the girl as a younger version of the Inquisitor.

"_Whore of a girl!"_

A tiny whimper escaped Elenora's throat as her father swam into view, dark eyes taking in the sight of his daughter with a look of pure hatred and disdain.

"_I didn't do anything! We were just talking, I swear it! Papa! Papa please!"_

_"__Strip her!"_

Another choked whine left the true Inquisitor's throat as another elf entered the scene, cutting away the back of the child's dress, no care to fact that everything from her neck to the backs of her thighs were now visible to anyone watching.

"_NO!"_

This was a new voice, that of her mother's, and in the distance she could see her struggling against invisible hands, trying desperately to get to her child.

"_She's just a baby! Don't do this! Don't!"_

_"__No daughter of mine will be seen as a whore to the shemlen. You've brought shame to our clan. For that you must be punished."_

The ghostly vision of Elenora's father handed a whip to the elf whom had tore out the back of her dress.

_"__How many?", _the elf asked.

_"__Until she's no longer conscious."_

_"__NO! NO!"_

_"__MAMA!"_

As the sound of the first blow rang across the Fade, Elenora could take no more. She doubled over and retched, vomit pouring over her boots as yet more lashes sounded, and she could hear her childhood-self scream out in pain, her mother screaming as well.

"Enough of this!"

The Holy Smite came suddenly, rocking the earth around them yet again as Cassandra tore the demon's vision to shreds. Beside her, Dorian and Hawke looked rather queasy, the two mages obviously having felt some of the effects as well. Varric was the one to pull the Inquisitor back upright, concern and something like pity splashed across his face.

"You alright, Shimmers?" he asked, hoping the nickname would ground her. It seemed to have worked as she rose, spitting the last of the stale vomit out and letting out a grunt of "let's finish this."

More scenes swirled around them. Cassandra wailing over her brother's dead body. Fenris having the lyrium carved into his skin. Worst of all was the sight of a younger Dorian being forced into some kind of ritual pool by hooded men, his father glaring down at him.

"_Father, please!" _the ghost of Dorian cried, fighting against his assailants.

_"__You are no son of mine," _came Halward's cold response.

Finally the way out was in sight, Cassandra, Varric, Dorian, and Fenris leaping through first. Once they were safe, Hawke, Stroud, and Elenora all made a break for it, but the demon blocked their way, determined to keep them there forever.

"Go," Stroud gasped, "Go! The Wardens created this mess. A Warden should be the one to set it right."

"Stroud—"

"Go!"

And so Hawke and Elenora continued their sprint out of the Fade and back to Adamant, leaving Stroud behind.

They hit the ground hard, a chorus of voices signaling their return. Elenora could barely make heads or tails of what was being said, the memory of what she'd seen in the Fade returning to the forefront of her mind. Again she retched, and healers were upon her in an instant. They tugged off her armor and searched her as she sobbed, looking for the offending wound they thought was causing her tears. When they found none, they realized rather grimly that whatever they had seen beyond the veil had caused damage no potion or salve could fix.

/

The journey back from the Warden tower seemed longer than the journey there. Everyone was clearly feeling the loss of Stroud, as well as the loss of the Wardens as a protective force in Thedas as a whole. No one dared speak of what they saw in the Fade as it pertained to the Inquisitor. She could feel Cassandra boring a questioning stare into the back of her head most days, but Elenora was grateful she didn't ask.

When Skyhold was back in sight she bid farewell to Hawke and Fenris, promised a full report would be sent to the advisors by afternoon the next day, and quickly fled to her bedroom. It seemed to her now that the bedroom was used more for crying than sleep, these days, but still she let the tears fall, hoping it would soothe the old but familiar wound.

There was a quiet knock on the door below, and she rasped for the visitor to come in. She expected Leliana, who undoubtedly would have questions about seeing a spirit claiming to be the former Divine, but instead it was Dorian, who wasted no time wrapping her in a hug. He cooed and shushed her, allowing her all the time she needed to cry yet again, only letting go to quip that perhaps she should pay to have his clothes laundered if she was going to carry on like this. Elenora tried for a tight-lipped smile, but it faltered. She felt more drained than ever.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

She nodded, sniffing as Dorian pulled up a chair beside the bed, and she took her place seated within the pile of pillows adorning the headboard.

"Clan Lavellan isn't like most other Dalish clans," she began shakily, thanking Dorian for the tall glass of water he passed her. "We aren't nomadic like the rest. We used to be, but when my clan found an abandoned keep, much like Skyhold in the hills of the Free Marches, they decided to stay.

"Staying in one place is dangerous for elves," she continued after a long sip. "Even in the Free Marches, political bodies get itchy, merchants begin to worry— no one likes the idea of elves staking any real claim to a sizeable piece of land. So we had to prove ourselves, to grow slowly and gain favor. Anything that threatened our place had to be hidden away...or punished."

She took a shaky breath as she continued. "It's a wonder they even took my mother in, a city elf born of a Tevinter Altus and a slave. But my mother can charm her way into any situation and the Keeper took a liking to her, so she was allowed to stay and marry, so long as she wore a vallaslin. But...for me... there was a boy. The son of some farmers who settled not far from our territory and who were permitted to stay after setting up trade with us. We used to spend afternoons together by a little creek. I taught him to skip rocks and he taught me how to play cards. Josephine is lucky I let her win, he taught me to vicious."

She smiled a little at the memory, warm days in the sun, toes digging into the silt of the creek, laughter rustling the very trees above them. Then her thoughts turned dark.

"My father found out and was furious. We tried to interact with humans as little as possible. He thought my friendship with the boy would cause a scandal, and so he decided to make me an example. He...he had me beaten in front of our entire clan."

The tears came again, and Elenora made no effort to try and stop them.

"I...I tried to count the lashes... I thought maybe it would help, but I lost track after 80. I thought I was going to die. Part of me wanted to." The last sentence came out as barely a whisper. Dorian was out of his chair in an instant, arms about her yet again.

"To do such a thing to your own child for simply having a friend. The man is a _monster. _How old were you at the time?"

Elenora squeezed her eyes shut, pressing her face into Dorian's shoulder.

"I was twelve."

"_Kaffas!"_

Elenora clutched at him tighter as she began sobbing in earnest once more. The same self-hatred she felt the night Solas left her boiled to the surface.

"Dread Wolf take me, this was eight years ago now. Why it still haunts me so—"

"_Eight years?!"_

Dorian pulled back and stared at the Inquisitor in shock. She could see it was all clicking into place for him now: Why she'd been so emotional and willing to harm herself over the least little thing. Why it was so easy for her to fall apart when things got difficult. In truth she had no business leading the Inquisition, young as she was. But with the mark firmly rooted in her hand, she had little choice.

"A baby," Dorian breathed, barely above a whisper. "But you're just a baby."

Elenora's face crumpled again and somehow yet more tears came. It was an awful, ugly cry that racked her whole body, and, feeling as pathetic as she already did, she confessed to the mage.

"I just want to go home and forget any of this ever happened. I miss my clan, and the Free Marches. I miss my markings. I want my _mom."_

And she cried even harder at this childish admission, feeling like a rather overgrown baby whining over a skinned knee. But it was the truth. She was tired and it felt like entirely too much sat on her shoulders.

"Look at me, amatus."

She choked off her sobs as best she could, swallowing down the scream she wished she could let out.

"What you've done, what you're doing is too much to handle for anyone, let alone one as young as you. But all the same, you're _doing _it. The Inquisition believes in you. I believe in you. You won't fail. You are more than capable of baring this burden. And you are not alone."

Elenora opened her mouth to protest, but Dorian silenced her. Suddenly he was tucking her into bed and pouring another glass of water for her.

"Enough, amatus. You've done more than could be asked of most. You need to rest. We still have to make the journey to Halamshiral tomorrow and you'll need to gather yourself."

Dorian drew closed the curtains in the room, casting everything into darkness. He bid the Inquisitor farewell, leaving her to fall into an uneasy sleep.

/

Dorian took the steps two at a time as he raced to the Lady Nightingale. If she was surprised by his presence she didn't show it, maintaining her serene but careful gaze as he bore down on her like some half-crazed Mabari.

"The Inquisitor's age," he barked, loud enough for her to hear it but not so loud that they would be overheard. "You knew."

"I did."

"Vishinte Kaffas, you knew and you did nothing about it? She's a child, Leliana, she needs guidance! Mentoring! She cannot possibly do this on her own!"

An infuriating smile found its way to the Spymaster's face.

"Though she is young, the Lady Herald is still very much a capable leader. We could not disclose her age for fear that some of the soldiers would not follow one so young as the Inquisitor. But as for her needing guidance, I don't believe the Herald is alone in that respect. Unless you are telling me you don't think yourself a worthy mentor to her?"

Dorian felt as though he'd been punched in the gut. Yes, Elenora was the best friend he'd had in years since Felix, but it never crossed his mind that she may look up to him as an elder.

"The Inquisitor has her mentor in you, Dorian. Thus far you have been there for her at every turn. I trust you will not betray that."

Dorian nodded curtly and turned away, stalking back down the stairs to his corner of the library. If he was the only thing standing between the Inquisitor and the abyss, he would be there for her. It was with this oath in mind that he sat at a small table, pulling out two pieces of parchment and beginning to write.


	5. Chapter 5

Ready to reaffirm her place as the Inquisition's leader, Elenora took little time recomposing herself. They were to attend the soiree at Halamshiral that evening, everything finally prepared to prevent Celine's assassination.

She took her time bathing, scrubbing herself thoroughly and perfuming her skin. Her escorts for the evening were picked easily enough: Cassandra, Vivienne, and Dorian were of the noblest birth of anyone else in her inner circle, and were likely to gain her the highest favor with the court, even in spite of Dorian being a 'Vint.

She sat in her dressing robe as she finished her report on Adamant, maintaining cool detachment with the tale by pretending she was simply writing a chapter in one of Varric's horrid books. Soon Dorian, Josephine, and Vivienne were all crowded into her room. Dorian wasted little time applying kohl to her eyes, and rouge to her lips and cheeks. When he was satisfied with his work, he stepped out to allow Josephine and Vivienne to dress her.

Vivienne had been horrified to find out that Josephine suggested matching uniforms, and borderline infuriated to hear that they insisted on them being red. She shut this idea down immediately, saying the outfits would be outdated, far too militaristic to gain any good favor with the court, and, even worse, would clash horribly with their leaders already deep red locks.

Instead she called for her own personal tailors to make everyone outfits for the evening. They decided on a rich emerald green, a shade which would invoke thoughts of the mark, and everyone was to have their own outfit. There was much bickering over this (Cassandra had flat out refused to wear a dress, and instead was saddled with a green version of the original military coats), but finally they had a dress ready for the Inquisitor.

It was scandalous to say the least, but only in the best way, Vivienne assured. It was made of a fine silk, so thin that as Elenora walked, one could plainly make out all the curves of her body. Vivienne tried to talk her out of her nipple piercings— silly jewelry she got on a whim in the back of a Free Marches bar in her youth— but she refused. The rings stood out clearly against the unforgiving fabric of the dress. The halter top came up high on her neck, revealing her shoulders and giving her the look of a powerful woman from the front, but from the back—

Well, there was no back. Aside from the inch-thick ring of fabric circled around her neck, holding the front of the dress up, the back was entirely out, the dress only starting again just a hair above the cleft of her ass. The dress had been made before the revelation of Elenora being beaten before her clan, but she waved off any of Josephine's apologies, the ambassador being one of the few, along with Leliana and Cullen, to have been told the truth of what happened in the Fade. Elenora decided she would bare her scars proudly and dare anyone in Orlais to stand against her. Besides, the fine gold lines that outlined her scars, appearing as a beautiful tree over her back, were the only parts of the vallaslin Solas had not removed. That part of herself he'd allowed her to keep.

Regardless, her hair would cover much of her back anyway, pulled behind her ears save the two pieces left to frame her face, all of it cascading in perfectly placed ringlets. On the long train of her dress the symbol of the inquisition was emblazoned in gold.

She was truly a sight to behold.

"You look simply stunning darling," Vivienne cooed, she herself in a simple but formfitting dress of the same green. Beside her, Josephine, in a green and gold variant of her usual dress, giggled delightedly.

"If nothing else goes to plan this evening, let it be said that the Inquisitor was a beauty beyond words this night."

Elenora tried to hide her blush as she descended the stairs of the keep, heading to the coaches provided by Gaspard. A number of gasps and sighs could be heard as she climbed down, no one having seen the dress she was to wear. Dorian took her arm immediately, brown skin of his arms bare under his massive, cloaking robes. He looked every bit the part of "evil Tevinter magister", and he was absolutely breathtaking. Together the two of them made quite the sight, and Elenora worried someone might actually swoon.

"The journey there should be easy," Dorian remarked. "Let us hope they have plenty of good wine."

/

Midway through the night, the Tevene elf found herself exhausted. She was making another routine visit to the ballroom, being sure to be seen mingling among the guests, carefully navigating her investigation. She'd spoken to Celine, Gaspard, and Briala, surprising everyone in the court with her perfect Orlesian (another language she picked up from her mother) and even danced with the Duchess Floriane. It was all so tiring, answering questions with questions, minding every quirk of the brow and smirk of the lips. She wondered how it was possible that her mother had tolerated The Game as long as she had.

Across from her, Commander Cullen was being assaulted, both verbally and physically, by a number of cheeky nobles. Their eyes met for a moment and Elenora shot him a pitying look. He was looking less the lion and more the prey in this environment. Fereldens never did care for such flouncery.

In a moment of inspiration, she swept across the floor, straight to the Commander.

"Forgive me, _messieurs et mesdames, mais _I find myself in need of my commander. It's rather urgent."

Begrudgingly they allowed the commander to go with her, out to the balcony where she quickly closed and locked the doors behind them.

"What is it Inquisitor? Trouble?"

"Indeed. I find myself horribly bored and you clearly needed rescuing."

In an entirely unladylike motion, she hoisted her dress, prying out a chilled bottle of Ferelden ale she'd managed to smuggle out between her thighs. Cullen's jaw nearly hit the floor.

"How on earth did you manage that? You were just dancing with the Duchess!"

"An elf has her ways, Commander Rutherford."

She plucked two untouched wine glasses from a nearby table, dumping their contents into the bushes beside them and refilling them with the ale, handing a glass to Cullen.

"I...thank you. I don't relish in events such as this, and if one more person pinched my rear..."

"Oh? Hmm. I'll have to keep my hands to myself then."

They both laughed, clinking glasses and enjoying the moment of quiet. Elenora had to admit, Cullen would have looked handsome in the original shade of red they chose, but in green he carried an air of quiet mystery. He was captivating, and she couldn't help but trace the line of the scar that clefted his lip with her eyes. Perhaps it was all the wine and beer.

"How are you, by the way? Really. Not just what you tell us at war table meetings. Cassandra tells me Adamant was...difficult. I admit your report was rather hard to read."

Elenora shrugged at this.

"It was hard to visit that memory again, but it's an old wound. I'm tired, but I'm better than I have been. As silly as this night has been, I'm glad to have our work to focus on."

Cullen hummed in agreement. They stood in companionable silence a few moments more, finishing two glasses each between them.

"I have to say, Lady Inquisitor," Cullen murmured, "you are absolutely beautiful this evening."

Elenora was thankful in that moment that her skin was as dark as it was, hiding the flush she undoubtedly would have been covered in. When she didn't answer immediately, Cullen took on a blush of his own, scratching at the back of his neck.

"I mean— that's not to say you aren't beautiful every evening. But I just mean...well...Maker, what is wrong with me..."

There was something to that. In the back of her mind something stirred, like the memory of an important task one had forgotten. The thought escaped her, though, as there was a firm knock on the door. She opened it to reveal Cassandra, who passed a suspicious look between the two, but ignored it.

"We need to move. Someone's heard a commotion on the second floor."

Elenora downed the rest of her drink, nodding a farewell to a still blushing Cullen.

/

Elenora decided she'd had enough of Orlesian politics for the rest of her days. Duchess Floriane, revealed as the assassin, had been carted off, on her way to the cells in Skyhold. After listening to them bicker, the Inquisitor had somehow talked Celine, Gaspard, and Briala into an alliance. When Celine announced the peace between them, as if she'd done anything to actually aide in the negotiation in any meaningful way, it took everything Elenora had within her not to roll her eyes. Then there was the matter of Morrigan. She hated people like the witch, haughty know-it-alls that likened their arrogance to expertise, but she accepted the help, realizing she may be exactly what they needed to stop Corypheus.

She stayed slumped over the balcony as the witch left, jumping a little as a hand settled on the small of her back.

Solas.

"What can I do for you," She asked, coldly, straightening into a parade rest to get his hands off of her.

"I was hoping you had a moment to talk."

"You picked an interesting time to finally want to speak to me."

Solas sighed, stepping closer to her, eyes blazing with a look she only saw moments before he would kiss her. A hunger that sent a shiver down her spine.

"I admit, though I cannot offer you a relationship, I do miss your company."

He took another step forward, arms slinking around her waist as she stiffened.

"I was hoping you'd do me the honor of dancing with me."

Elenora sucked in a breath. They were so close now, faces mere centimeters away from each other. His warm breath washed over her face, intoxicating. She wanted to step into the kiss. Let him take her, let herself be his again.

"Get. Off. Of. Me."

With a hard shove she pushed him away, shaking with fury as she saw the surprised look on his face.

"You don't get to do this to me," she hissed, "you don't get to throw me away and then beg me back like some Orlesian whore."

"Strong words from someone dressed like an Orlesian whore."

It stung more than it should have. Anger and hurt washed down her like cold water to hot skin.

"How dare you."

"Is there a problem here?"

It was Cullen. He was standing in the doorway, pointedly looking at Solas. Elenora wondered if he'd heard their conversation.

"Actually no. Solas was just leaving. Cullen, would you do me the honor of dancing with me?"

Elenora lavished in the sour look on Solas's face as she threw his words so easily at Cullen. He recovered quickly, though, waiting for Cullen to decline her as he had dozens of others that night.

"Yes. I'd love to."

The Inquisitor thought she practically saw Solas's ears droop. She didn't break eye contact with him as she allowed Cullen to encircle her waist. Still maintaining steady eye contact with Solas, she pressed against the Commander, allowing her lips to ghost over his throat the way she knew Solas used to love. Cullen gasped slightly at the motion, and Solas turned away, stalking out of Halamshiral.

They danced in silence, Elenora's mood souring more and more by the second as the song drifted to a halt. She waited for Cullen to let her go, and when he didn't she stared up into his eyes. There was something there, something haunting him, a question he so desperately wanted to ask, and Elenora prayed he would ask it. Instead he finally let her go, bowing deeply and bidding her a good night. Once he was finally out of sight she turned away, gripping the balcony banister so hard her knuckles turned white. She watched as her tears fell down into the gardens below like rain from the heavens.

It wasn't fair. None of this was fair.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: I won't have my laptop tomorrow, so I'm posting a day early. Thank you so much for reading and for your feedback.**

The victories at Halamshiral and Adamant had done wonders for the morale of all of Skyhold. The Herald's Rest was bustling every night, drink and coin flowing freely, gossip spreading like wildfire— Corypheus had been thwarted yet again, and there remained only a few more loose ends that needed to be tied up before they could truly take the fight to him. First was cutting off the supply of Red Lyrium his Templars were using to bolster their strength. Next was taking down Samson, his steadfast general. The last was removing his access to an Eluvian, a mirror to the Fade that Morrigan had discovered in the Arbor Wilds. All in all, things were going swimmingly for the Divine forces, and a little rest was well deserved.

It was amidst all this good cheer that Dorian found the Inquisitor locked away in her tower, furiously scribbling down reports so she might finally be able to join the others in the bar that night for a round of cards.

"Oh my dear Inquisitor?" Dorian called out, entering without so much as knocking.

"To what do I owe the pleasure, Dori?"

Dorian could hardly hide his grin as he presented a small box, wrapped carefully in ribbon.

"It occurred to me that I can't always be here to soothe you with my velvety voice and dashing good looks. So In lieu of that..."

He held out the box to her, which she took cautiously, starting slightly when she felt it move. Quickly she removed the ribbon and gasped at the box's contents. Careful she plucked out a tiny, snow white kitten, hardly the size of a loaf of bread, and, strangely, blindfolded.

"All the rage in Orlais," Dorian beamed, "steadfast little companions. They imprint themselves on the first person they lay eyes on, so they're kept blindfolded immediately after birth. I know these smelly Ferelden's prefer Mabari, but you're far too good for those slobbering mutts."

Elenora slowly peeled away the blindfold, gasping as the cat stared into her eyes with stark white irises. Slowly, the color filled in, the same gold as the elf's eyes, and the kitten began to mew and cry, rubbing her head against the Inquisitors palm.

"Dorian she's _perfect._"

She cradled the tiny animal against her cheek, grinning as the little thing began to purr.

"_Terasyl da'len. _Child of the Sky. A fitting name for Skyhold's newest recruit."

There wasn't a soul in all of Skyhold who wasn't taken with its newest denizen. Leliana and Josephine sat with her while they stayed up late, gossiping. Vivienne could often be seen with the cat in her arm, stroking it carelessly as she entreated visiting nobles, cats such as these the height of fashion in Orlais. Blackwall didn't mind her presence as he worked at his wood carvings, taking time to carve her a little dish for food and water when she came to visit. She sat beside Cassandra while her face was buried in one of Varric's books, free hand stroking the little creature absentmindedly. She sat aloft on Varric's shoulder when he wrote, and on Cole's hat while he lounged in his quarters in the Herald's Rest. Often she sat cozied up to Bull and his Chargers, or any of the other soldiers in need of comfort while the bar was busy, even watching Cullen with interest as he took the soldiers through sparring. They repaid her attentions with little scraps of meat and scratches behind the ears. Sera, who detested all things "elfy" refused to call her by her real name, instead giving her the nick name "Tilly", which many of the southerners found easier to pronounce anyway. Indeed the only person Tilly seemed not to care for was Solas, but even then she would sit patiently by as he worked away at a fresco. Still, she would hiss and scurry off if he even thought about petting her.

With Tilly's presence in the keep, morale stayed high, and Elenora found the days went by easier with everyone in good moods. It was on a particularly joyous afternoon, with Tilly napping on her lap, that she heard the trumpets blare, announcing a visitor of note.

"Come on, da'len. Only polite we greet out new guest, hmm?"

With the cat in stride, she crossed the threshold to the gates, surprised to see a white coach pulled not by harts or horses, but by six snow white halla. Dennet was going to shit himself.

"Announcing her ladyship, Gwhen'Evara Lavellan! Second to Keeper Lavellan! Wife of Sulevin Lavellan! Mother of El'Enora Lavellan!"

"Yes, yes, my dear, Evara is just fine."

Elenora could hardly believe the sight of her mother climbing out of the carriage. The two looked incredibly similar, but where Elenora had gold eyes, her mother had green. She was also a shade or two lighter than the Inquisitor, making the mane red hair they both shared stand out even more. More noticeable was the expanse of her vallaslin, covering her arms, forehead, and chin where Elenora's only graced her cheeks before it's removal.

"Mother?!"

"My dear girl!"

The two ran towards each other, the older woman swooping the younger into her arms and spinning her about with impressive ease.

"My darling girl," Evara whispered, "how I've missed you."

Elenora simply held on tighter, not truly believing her mother was really there.

Behind them there was a cough, and they both spun about to see a rather smug Dorian.

"_Salve, _Madame Lavellan. I hope my letter found you well?"

"_Vos nocere, _my dear, you must be Dorian. Yes, it found me quite well indeed. When I heard my daughter had need of me I came as quickly as I could," Evara said, returning the Tevinter greeting.

"You sent for my mother?" Elenora replied, mouth hanging open slightly. Dorian only nodded, grin widening.

"Come," Evara said, brandishing a rather expensive looking bottle of wine, "I feel there's much to discuss."

The three of them made their way to the second floor of Herald's Rest, Elenora pulling Dorian into a one armed hug, whispering a quiet thank you.

Once they were seated, Evara revealed the bottle to be a rather difficult to find Tevinter red.

"How in Thedas did you get your hands on that?! Half the Magisterium gets put on a waiting list for it each year. I've seen people come to blows over the last bottle of the season."

"A winter wine," Evara explained to a rather confused Elenora. "Meant to be enjoyed warm, which makes it terribly out of season for this lovely spring weather, but regardless. The Inquisition may have resources, but me, I have _friends." _

With a mischievous glint in her eye, Evara snapped her fingers, warming the bottle with magic and causing Dorian's eyes to go wide.

"Forgive me, I had no idea the Inquisitor's mother was a mage_."_

Evara laughed, pouring glasses for the three of them.

"It was something we had to hide for some time. Having Dalish apostates running amok in the Free Marches would have attracted unwanted attention. The two of us had to hide our magic."

"The two of you?"

Elenora looked sheepishly into her glass.

"I'm a mage as well. But I was never trained in magic, and the mark makes it difficult to sense."

"Which is something we need to change, my love."

Evara leaned over, clasping one of Elenora's hands.

"If you're going to beat this, to defeat Corypheus, you're going to need everything you have at your disposal. You're an incredible huntress, and a formidable assassin as I hear it," Evara said, winking at Dorian, "but you have to become more. You have powerful mages here who can help you. It's time for you to embrace all that you are."

Elenora nodded. Squeezing her mother's hand before she pulled away.

"Speaking of mages and assassination," Evara mused, "Is that the fucker that broke my daughter's heart?"

Outside of the window beside them, Solas walked past, clearly in deep conversation with Fiona.

"Honestly, amatus, _him? _Handsome in the face, sure, but he dresses worse than half the homeless in Orlais."

Dorian howled with laughter at this, choking on his drink. Elenora ducked her head down between her shoulders, thoroughly chastised.

"Don't you shed another tear over the bastard. You're far too pretty for him anyway. Let's find someone better, hmm?"

To Elenora's horror, Evara sauntered over to the window, practically hanging out of it as she took in the men below. Dorian was all too quick to join her, and Elenora groaned as she followed behind.

"Ooh! Now he's a strapping young man, he is. Not the sort you take home to me, but definitely good enough for a quick fuck to get over an ex."

"MOTHER! That's Warden Blackwall!"

Dorian laughed even harder, hardly able to contain himself. He always teased the Inquisitor, but this was something far better.

"Alright fine then. Hmm... what about him? Awfully pretty isn't he?"

"Michel de Chevin? Excellent choice. Chevalier. He'd be much better," Dorian agreed.

"This is easily the most embarrassing day of my life."

"Wait, WAIT! HIM! Oh he's _perfect. _If you won't take him, I will. I could certainly show him a thing or two. He'd never want for a non-elf again."

As Dorian's grin spread, Elenora's eyes widened in horror.

"_Mother. _That. Is. My. _Commander. _Not only would it be horribly inappropriate for me, but what would father think?"

"I could honestly give a damn what your fool father thinks, amatus. He's been dead to me for years now."

It seemed as though the air had been sucked out of the room. Evara was no longer smiling, face looking grim.

"I'll... give you two a moment," Dorian muttered awkwardly.

A sad smile crept onto Evara's face.

"Forgive me, my dear, it was time I had this discussion with my daughter anyhow. Your letter made me realize it. We'll only be a moment."

As Dorian left Evara and Elenora slid back into their chairs. The elder elf took a bracing sip of wine, letting out a long, pained sigh.

"All I ever wanted for you was a happy childhood. A proper mother and father, not a broken home, scraping by as my mother and I did after she fled from the north. It seemed fate had another idea."

Her gaze was distant as she spoke, as if she was watching her life play out against the walls of the tavern.

"When your father did what he did to you, it broke me. I should have been there to protect you. I should have stopped him."

"It wasn't your fault, Mama," Elenora whispered. Evara shook her head.

"I still should have stopped him. In the aftermath I tried to pick up the pieces, tried to play the role of happy wife and mother, tried to bring you two back together the best I could. It was strained, but it was something. In truth, your father and I hadn't been together since that day. I looked at him and saw only a monster. I thought maybe if you forgave him, I could too. But I could tell the hurt never truly left you, and so it never left me."

Evara reached across the table to clutch at Elenora's hands again.

"He begged me to try and get you to reconcile once you left. I told him no. If he wanted to make right with you, he'd have to reach out himself. The coward never did."

Evara brought Elenora's hands to her lips, placing a quick kiss on them.

"You are my brave, sweet girl. Every day you make moves that change the world. If your father had been anything other than a fool, he'd have seen that. I am so _proud _of you."

Elenora smiled at her mother, feeling the chains around her heart loosen some at the words.

"I love you, amatus. And someday I'm sure you'll find someone who loves you just as much, if not more. But if you don't want it to be the commander..."

"Mom. Do _not _bed my commander."

Evara barked with laughter once more, the mood lightening again.

"Okay, okay, fine. I'll behave."

/

Evara was set to stay for the next three days, her antics immediately becoming legendary. The first morning after she'd arrived Elenora caught her stumbling out of her guest room, a rather disheveled and sheepish looking Michel de Chevin slipping past her. When Elenora fixed her with a horrified look, her only response was to shrug and say "hey, it wasn't the commander."

She spent her days charming everyone in the keep just as easily as Tilly: gossiping with Leliana and Josephine, talking smutty literature with Cassandra, sitting atop Bull's shoulders as he played cards with the Chargers late into the evening, giving him a light tap or squeeze when he was about to play a bad hand. Varric seemed to follow her everywhere with parchment in hand, clearly preparing to memorialize her in some blasted book. Most impressive of all was how easily she debated with Vivienne— the two held completely opposite ideals about the Circles, and yet they carried on conversation about it as easily as if they were discussing the weather. It became very obvious, then, that The Game didn't bother her mother at all. She was an expert player. Selfishly, if only for a moment, Elenora wished it was her mother that bore the mark instead. Clearly, she could navigate this life much easier than her daughter. Elenora swore she would be just as good at this someday.

It during that thought, as she sat with Josephine and her mother at tea, that she heard the horns blare again. This, however, was not welcoming fanfare, but a warning of intruders at the gate. A chill ran down her spine as she rushed to the entrance, the memory of Haven in the forefront of her mind.

When she made it to the gates Cullen and Cassandra stood, arms raised. Bull and Blackwall were rushing over, too. Elenora made to join the line, but Dorian stopped her, standing in front of her, staff aglow. She could see Varric and Sera, crossbow and long bow at the ready from the parapets. In the shadows, Leliana's people stood ready. Solas and Vivienne joined the line in front of her, magic crackling, and Cole stood steadfast beside her. What surprised her the most, however, was the cause of the commotion: a single man, alone, clearly up there in his years if his balding crown and long white hair had anything to say about it. He held no weapon, and dressed in simple robes, but as he locked eyes with Elenora she felt he may as well have stabbed her. She let out a pathetic whimper and clung to her mother's side like a child.

It was her father.

"My little girl..."

He raised his arms as if to embrace her, taking a step forward, but was blocked in an instant by Cassandra and Cullen.

"Not another step." Cassandra barked.

"Touch the Inquisitor and we will cut you down where you stand."

Cullen's words sent a shiver down Elenora's spine. Sure, he'd bark orders at the troops, and he was intense in battle, but she'd never heard him speak with such an edge to his voice before.

"This is ridiculous! She's my daughter!"

"Father's don't do to their daughters what you did to yours!" Dorian snapped.

The whole of the Frostbacks echoed with the sound of bows being drawn. The elder elf slumped slightly, arms dropping to his sides.

"Please. I know I've done wrong. I only came here to speak to her. To ask her forgiveness."

Elenora's blood boiled. It was like listening to Halward Pavus all over again. Excuses. Self pity. Would she even take the apology? What Dorian's father did was behind closed doors. A disturbing evil to be sure, but to be humiliated in the way she was, to lose herself like she did...

"Let me speak to him."

With reluctance, Evara let her daughter go, the line parting to let her through. All eyes were on the two of them as she stared down her father.

"Pray tell, Sulevin Lavellan," Elenora hissed, "what would you have me forgive you for?"

Sulevin swallowed hard.

"Say it," Elenora hissed, "say it so everyone can know what you did."

"I'm sorry, da'len," Sulevin quavered, throat dry.

"For?"

"For having you beaten before the clan."

There were gasps amongst the crowd. Those who fell with Elenora into the Fade knew. The advisors knew. But the rest had only an inkling that something horrible had happened beyond the veil. Something unspeakable. Oh, but Elenora wanted it spoken.

"And for how long was I beaten, father?"

"My instructions were until you were unconscious... but the guardsman's arm gave out after 120 strokes, he stopped then."

More gasps and whispers flooded the keep. The soldiers were coming down now, the sound of swords being unsheathed echoed against the stone.

"And how old was I when I was given this punishment?"

"Twelve," Sulevin whispered.

"I'm sorry?"

"Twelve!"

The whispers turned to shouts now, swords bashed against shields in warning, arrows shot out against the man, purposefully missing, but only just. Elenora had begun to pace back and forth, arms clasped behind her back.

"And what was it that I had done to earn such a punishment at such a young age?"

"You befriended a human boy."

The roars increased. A veritable army was threatening to surge the man, but Elenora held up a hand to quiet them. She deflty undid the claps of her jacket, pulling it off, and then her shirt, clutching it to her front to keep some modesty. A woman wailed at the sight of the scars which had been mostly hidden in the darkness and her hair when they departed for Halamshiral.

"Look upon me and know the truth of your Inquisitor!" Elenora barked, pulling her jacket back on once all had seen, leaving it open but tossing her shirt on the ground.

"Know what it is that I faced! That was but eight years ago!"

The secret was out. Everyone knew now that their leader was practically a child.

"But did it break me?!"

A roar of "No!" Rumbled through the mountains.

"Did it stop me?!"

Again, the call of "No!" Rang out.

She turned back to her father, a cruel smirk on her face.

"I have nothing to forgive you for. That would imply that I still cared. Now run home you sad, fool of a man, and grieve for all that you've lost."

Shouts and arrows followed the elf as he fled the keep. Elenora stared him down long after his form slid from view.

"Hail the Inquisitor!"

Everyone shouted in unison to Cullen's war cry.

"Hail the Inquisition!" Elenora called back.

A louder, longer roar followed, but Elenora hardly heard it as her mother crushed her to her chest.

"My brave girl. My brave, _brave_ girl. I am so proud of you amatus."

The chain slipped entirely away, barbed wire around her heart dissolving under her mother's touch. She was not broken. And she was certainly not alone.

/

An odd thing happened after Elenora faced down her father. She thought perhaps she would receive pitying glances from her men, but instead they seemed to only respect her more. In fact, as she passed them, rather than saluting, they would roll up sleeves, tug down collars, or otherwise gesture at odd parts of their bodies. It took a few times of this happening for her to catch on, but soon enough she'd realize: she'd shown them hers, so they were showing her theirs. As she passed her men, each revealed their scars to her: ugly, gnarled flesh that carried tales of pain and strife. They'd all fallen victim to some terrible fate or another, but as they greeted her with the evidence of their woes, they were swearing an oath that it would not break them. That it would not stop them, as it hadn't broken or stopped her.

As the evening drew near, Elenora felt herself growing sorrowful, knowing her mother was to depart soon. There was one last thing to do before she left however: restore the Inquisitor's clan markings.

It was an intimate affair, the fellow Dalish of Skyhold gathering in the garden to witness her vallaslin being restored. The only others were the members of the inner circle. Even Solas, who regained some favor with Elenora for joining the line against her father, had come, though he stood in the shadows away from the gathering, clearly disapproving of it all.

Elenora lay flat on the ground, magic surging through her mother's fingertips as she shouted praises in the elven tongue. Soon, Elenora's cheeks burned with magic, feeling the golden marks laying themselves back into her skin. She stood when it was over, staring into the water of the fountain, sighing in relief at the sight of her clan markings.

"_Ego renascitur," _She breathed in smooth Tevene. "_I am reborn."_

"PRAISE MYTHAL!"

There was a great commotion of shouting and wailing. If one didn't know better they'd have thought the sound to be that of wolves in the mountains. Solas slinked away as the jubilation continued, and Evara embraced her daughter once again.

"Remember what I told you, my dear amatus," Evara breathed moments later as she climbed back into her carriage to depart. "Let no man tear you asunder. Let the heavens hear you."

There was a crack of a whip and the carriage surged forward, Elenora chasing it for a few meters.

"Be brave my sweet girl! Hail the Inquisitor! Hail the Inquisition!"

Elenora stopped running when she could no longer bare the ache in her legs and lungs. As she turned back to the keep, the entirety of the inner circle and the advisors were there, waving farewell to the elder Lavellan. Elenora couldn't help but smile.

Corypheus didn't stand a chance.

/

Cool magic danced across her face as a potion soothed the burns of her renewed facial tattoos. She lay sprawled across her bed, pillows enveloping her head and Tilly napping on her stomach. Elenora couldn't remember the last time she was this content.

A breeze fluttered through the room, and suddenly she felt rather cold. She grinned up at the sight of Cole, who was smiling back at her.

"Hey, Cole. Got anything interesting for me? Please spare me the details of any of my mother's dalliances. I think I caught her snogging Blackwall. I don't want to know for certain."

Cole's eyes seemed to dance mischievously, and he shook his head.

"_Her mother is just as pretty as she is. Older, and wiser, maybe, but still beautiful. It's no wonder why she's as marvelous as she is_."

Elenora groaned and playfully chucked a pillow at the spirit.

"Come on, Cole, can't you just tell me?"

Cole shook his head.

"Varric says I shouldn't say whose head I'm in."

"Ugh, and he's right. But can't you give me something a little more concrete?"

Cole seemed to consider this a moment, and suddenly he was speaking very fast.

"_A song, sweet and familiar. It's my mother's song, the song I gave my little girl. But it's not her singing it. A man. Dorian? No, it's... Oh. It's him. Is this why amatus said I couldn't play with the commander? Does she know he sings our song?"_

And then Cole was gone. And Elenora was in absolute hysterics.

Cullen was her secret admirer.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: I was mistaken, tomorrow is the day I'll no longer have my laptop. Since I'm not sure when I'll have it back, I've decided to post the chapters I had back logged. This will also be the last update before I bump the rating to M for reasons you can probably guess. In addition, this fic now has a companion piece, "We, The Inquisition"! I'll post additional chapters there that are fluff or just don't fit into the arc of this story. The first chapter is a Halloween piece and will be up shortly! Thanks again for reading and dealing with the odd posting schedule. **

Elenora knew she had to handle this carefully.

Cole had all but told her the commander was the one whom had caught feelings for her, but still she couldn't be sure. What if Cullen had just heard the song by coincidence from the real admirer? Or what if he only saw her as something pretty to look at, but not to have?

But as quickly as she doubted herself she remembered the dance with him at the ball. The way he held her, how he looked at her— it was all too much. She had to know. And for this reason she practically jogged up the tower to his office, knocking before she lost her nerve and trying to calm herself.

"Enter," came his lazy call, and she took a breath before she opened his door.

His dwelling was humble, desk littered with reports and random stacks of wood all about. She frowned at the ceiling where a gaping hole could be seen, wondering why he hadn't had it patched. Surely they had the resources.

"Inquisitor. Is there something I could do for you?"

Elenora gathered her all her courage, slinking over to his desk.

"I spoke with my mother before she left," she lied, carefully rehearsed lines slipping past her lips. "She mentioned something funny I wanted to ask about. I didn't know you knew any Tevinter lullabies."

Cullen's face slipped into a confused expression, his head tilting, making him look rather like an overgrown mabari.

"_Noctis tenebris non doles...Mater hic adest, non tamen habet..._" she sang, slowly, watching the realization come to Cullen's face before he turned red.

"Oh! Yes I...I believe I heard you singing in the gardens a few weeks ago. I was alone in the chapel, I didn't think anyone else was around. It...got stuck in my head is all."

"Ah...I see. I also have to thank you for dancing with me at the ball, I know it's not really your thing."

Cullen turned even redder.

"It was no problem at all really. Although I'm surprised you didn't ask Blackwall that night. The two of you looked nice together practicing with Josephine."

Elenora's heart hammered in her chest. It was all she needed to hear. It matched what Cole had told her. It was him. It was Cullen.

She quickly rounded the desk, fully aware that she was practically doing the pouncing she promised she wouldn't.

"It was nice, dancing with you. I wouldn't mind doing it again... or maybe sharing a drink again? Someplace we won't be interrupted by clandestine assassination attempts, maybe?"

Elenora could see Cullen swallow hard and shift his feet. Was he...? Oh goddesses, why did she glance down? He was. She couldn't help the little giggle she let out. Cullen looked like a tomato now.

"Yes," he said suddenly, letting out a breath he was clearly holding in. "Yes, drinks sound nice. To be honest I could use a break from this," he said, gesturing at the papers piled on his desk. "Meet me in the garden at sundown?"

"Sounds lovely."

Elenora practically skipped out of his office. That's when the cold realization hit her:

She had nothing to wear.

/

"My dear Inquisitor, I do hope you're well darling. Nasty business with your father, I'm glad to see you take after your mother. I do hope she'll visit again. I've been meaning to write to her."

Dorian was her go to on most things, but unless he had a secret wardrobe of dresses tucked away somewhere, he was useless to her. It was for that reason that Elenora found herself before the First Enchanter.

"Quite well, thank you Lady Vivienne. She does intend to visit again as soon as we handle Corypheus. At the moment I do find myself in need of your expert help, however."

Vivienne looked quite pleased at this compliment, the effect Elenora was hoping for. She had a feeling the Orlesian mage didn't relish in the idea of someone sharing her wardrobe.

"Ask away, my dear, I'm all ears."

"Well, since you are clearly the most fashionable person here, I thought maybe you could help me. I have a... an engagement tonight and I realize I have nothing to wear."

Vivienne's eyes lit up at this.

"Oh do tell me you are _finally _moving on from that miserable little man. You were always too good for him, darling, I told your mother as much. As luck would have it, I have just the thing."

She stood quickly and walked over to her wardrobe, procuring a dress in the same fabric as the one she wore to Halamshiral. It was a much darker of green, almost black, and didn't bare the symbol of the Inquisition as there was no train to attach it to. What's more, rather than being low cut in the back, it was low cut in the front, fabric draped elegantly, likely to stop just above her navel.

"I told the tailors I wanted _provocative _not controversial. This was hardly appropriate for the occasion, but it should do nicely for this."

Vivienne made to hand it to the Inquisitor, but pulled it back at the last moment.

"It's yours, darling...if you tell me who you're meeting tonight."

Elenora groaned. She was trying to keep this under wraps, no doubt gossip would fly if Vivienne knew.

"Must I? I thought a lady didn't kiss and tell?"

"Yes my dear, but I won't have you wasting a dress such as this on someone unworthy. You have my word it will stay between us."

"Well...if you must know...it's the commander."

Vivienne practically threw the dress at Elenora, running back to her dresser to pull out appropriate jewelry to match.

"You couldn't have picked a finer man, my dear. I do hope the evening goes well. You'll have to tell me all the details, of course."

Elenora groaned again, but thanked the First Enchanter before scurrying back to her room to prepare.

/

The evening was pleasant, if not a bit chilly when the wind blew. Though Elenora was once again a jewel backdropped by the ancient keep, she wished Vivienne had something warmer to offer. She did her best to avoid prying eyes as she slipped into the gardens, but a number of nobles noticed her, complimenting her lovely dress and hair which she'd pulled into an ornate bun as she headed to meet Cullen. She could have sworn she saw Varric picking up a quill and parchment.

Cullen himself was handsome as ever. He was dressed down, simple black breeches in place of the ones he wore under his armor and a thick, corded tunic that was just as dark. Elenora couldn't help but admire how it made his pale skin stand out, as if it were kissed by the very moonlight. His eyes went wide as she came into view, taking in the sight of her. So much of her brown skin was out in this gown, and his eyes hungrily drank it all in as she sat before him, pouring them each a glass of wine.

"Do you play chess, milady?"

"I do, but I swore it off after the thrashing Dorian gave me."

"Dorian only wins because he cheats, and he cheats poorly at that."

Cullen set the board, and they played for a time, remarking on this thing or that, laughing when one of them made a horrifically dumb move. Time slipped easily between them, enjoying each other's company like old friends, slowly getting to know each other better.

"I meant to ask," Cullen murmured, face taking on a pretty pink flush from all the wine, "what happened at Halamshiral between you and Solas? I thought the two of you were...involved."

Elenora shook her head.

"Not for some time now. He turned me away but had the nerve to proposition me at the ball. Entirely indecent."

Elenora shuddered, either for the cold or from the admission, she wasn't sure. She watched as Cullen grasped where his mantle would have been, but he realized he hadn't worn it that evening.

"Forgive me. I'd offer you my cloak but I've neglected to bring it."

"It's alright. Dorian has found a clever way of keeping me warm when I forget to dress appropriately."

"Oh?"

Boldly, Elenora crossed over to Cullen's side of the table, settling herself in his lap and waiting to see his reaction. To her delight he blushed, but laughed, pulling her in closer.

"Maker, you're so light. I'd wager Tilly weighs more than you."

"Don't be ridiculous!"

They laughed again, and Elenora leaned her head against his chest, smiling to herself when he sat his chin atop her head.

"I suppose you're conceding this match to me then?"

"Oh I want a rematch, but it doesn't matter. I have my victory."

Cullen tipped her chin up to look at him. There again the question was burning in his eyes. It was as if he couldn't believe she was there. She brought her hand up to his cheek bringing him in closer, her heart hammering hard in her chest.

"I...hope I'm not being too forward, Cullen. I don't mean to make you uncomfortable..."

The door to the garden creaked and there was a disgusted noise. They both turned to see Solas eyeing them with a disapproving expression. Elenora felt Cullen's fingers dig into the flesh of her thigh roughly as he glared at the elf.

"Actually, I find myself very comfortable," he hissed, not taking his eyes off Solas.

"Cullen if y—"

And suddenly his lips were on hers. It was clumsy at first but soon they fell into a rhythm, pulling at each other needily, tongues shyly asking entrance before they deepened the kiss. It wasn't until Solas slammed the door to the gardens that they parted.

"Sorry," Cullen breathed sheepishly, "that was... really nice."

"That was incredible."

And their lips came together again, slower this time, sweeter. Elenora's head swam under Cullen's touch, whimpering as he ghosted his hand down her throat and along the bare skin of her chest, stopping to rest a hand over her heart. It was some time before they parted again, both breathless with swollen lips.

"It appears we've been interrupted again, milady. We'll have to find someplace more private next time. Perhaps dinner in my quarters?"

"Yes," Elenora breathed, fully aware of how much it sounded like a moan, feeling warmth pool into the lap upon which she was seated. "That sounds wonderful. I'll let you know as soon as I have a break from my duties."

"As will I."

The two reluctantly separated, each headed to their respective bedrooms. As she crossed the main chamber of the keep, she was the picture of innocence and composure, but it mattered not. Solas must have said something because as soon as she appeared there were a number of whispered conversations behind hands. She didn't care.

She climbed the tower to her room and crawled under the blankets, one hand on her swollen lips and the other snaking its way down beneath the sheets.


	8. Chapter 8

"Honestly, Inquisitor, I am surprised at you. No deserts? No Venatori breathing down our throats? Shocking, amatus, this is practically a vacation."

The push to take the fight to Corypheus had taken the Inquisitor's traveling party to the Emerald Graves to follow up on a lead on Samson's Red Lyrium supply. Here, deep in the Dales, amongst the trees and lush greenery, it truly was a break from the norm. Sure, there was a steady string of Red Templars to fight through as they made their way to meet Fairbanks, a soldier of unknown origin whom was running a refugee camp hidden in the forest, but all in all the excursion had been practically pleasant.

"It's been easy pickings so far. This Fairbanks character had me believing this would be much worse," Elenora replied, casting a sideways glance at Bull, whom she'd brought along in case they needed more muscle. "It's nice, finally getting to see the Dales."

"First time, Shimmers? How poetic. 'Her blades raised in triumph, blood of the accursed shemlen dripping down the hilts in libation to her fallen ancestors.'"

"Mythal's tits, Varric, really? It's not even worth writing about. Now if you want something juicy your novels I'll have you know this is the first place to which Guinevere Graves ever travelled. It's how she got her name, after all."

"Guinevere Graves? Never heard of her."

"Sure you have, You even met her! It's the name my mother used while she lived in Orlais."

Jovial conversation continued between Dorian, Elenora, Bull, and Cassandra as they continued through the brush, closing the odd rift and cutting down the occasional Templar. Then there was a break in the fighting that stretched on entirely too long. The trees were too still, the birds had gone silent, and even the air had stopped its pleasant breeze.

"I really don't like this," Elenora whispered, slowly stepping forward, wincing at the way leaves rustled and crunched too loudly underfoot.

All at once a massive gust of air shoved the quintet onto the forest floor, a blood curdling roar tearing across the landscape.

"Oh _fuck _no."

"Oh fuck _YES!"_

A dragon appeared before them, great and terrible, blue-green scales glistening under the sun, blocking their way to the encampment.

"I think I may have shit my small clothes," Dorian whined.

"Please tell me we're fighting it, Boss," Bull panted, sounding almost aroused at the view of the beast spreading its wings, blacking out the sky.

"No way out but through."

"HELL YEAH!"

The group broke ranks, Dorian casting a wide spell of protection over Varric as the dwarf found a proper vantage point hidden in the trees. Bull hardly waited to jump into the fray, swinging his axe overhead, charging at the beast's gaping maw. Only Cassandra and Elenora hesitated, the former's eyes glazed over, almost unseeing, and the latter looking the beast over, searching for the best place to strike.

Elenora noticed Cassandra's hesitance to move, narrowly dodging the blast of fire the dragon launched at her as she leapt toward the Seeker.

"You're alright, Cassandra. You're a Pentaghast, are you not?"

This seemed to break Cassandra out of her odd trance, much to Elenora's relief. They would need the warrior if they had a chance to fell the beast.

"May Anthony smile on me this day."

Elenora didn't know how much longer they could keep this up. As the battle wore on, they were all tiring, swings slowing, magic and arrows hitting with less and less accuracy as time went on. But the dragon, too, was slowing, covered in blood, shrieking at every blow. It was clear they were about to win, but the dragon would not go down without taking at least one of them with it. It swung its tail, smashing Dorian into a tree, raising a clawed hand to finish the job when a flash of silver struck across Dorian's blurred vision.

"Not this day, you abysmal creature."

There were more flashes of silver, and with a mournful howl the beast crashed against the ground, finally dead.

"My hero," Dorian gasped, taking the hand of the dark haired man whom had appeared seemingly out of nowhere.

"My apologies, Inquisitor," the man continued, turning to the sweaty, panting elf as soon as Dorian was righted. "We heard the fighting. I'd have come to aid you sooner, but the camp was ambushed. I had to be sure my men were safe first."

"You must be Fairbanks," Elenora huffed, reaching out to shake his outstretched hand. "Thank goodness you came when you did, I don't relish the thought of my Necromancer being torn to shreds."

"Necromancer?" Fairbanks asked, turning back to Dorian. "A dangerous and underappreciated class of magic. It takes quite the skilled mage."

"Well," Dorian returned, eyebrows raised, "thank you. Not many see the practice that way. I owe you a drink by the way. For saving my life, and all."

"I'll hold you to that."

The rest of the time spent in the Emerald Graves passed quickly enough, the Inquisition's forces clearing out a nearby manor that the Red Templars had taken over. In one of the ransacked rooms of the lush estate, Elenora found a letter pinpointing the location of Samson's Red Lyrium operation: Emprise du Lion.

When the group arrived back at Skyhold a week later there was much fanfare, everyone oohing and ahhing at the skull of the felled dragon which they took with them as a trophy and a symbol of the Inquisition's strength. Fairbanks and his refugees joined the agents in Skyhold as well, the Orlesian gentleman outed as a noble pledging his sword and any resources he could acquire to the Inquisition so long as he could decide if he wanted to act on the proof of his nobility.

With the keep in good spirits again, Herald's Rest was packed, everyone wanting to hear the tale of the dragon and warm themselves with strong liquor. Elenora was roughly four steins in, shouting over Bull's exaggerations, slopping ale over the table while she played cards. As her eyes scanned the room she realized all had been in attendance save Cullen. He didn't typically venture over to the tavern, but on nights like tonight where troop's morale was high and cards traded hands, it seemed he should be there.

Elenora excused herself from the table, making promises to return soon after she'd ran a quick errand. She stumbled away from the bar and into the cold night, taking slow, measured steps as she climbed the stairs to the parapets. When she reached the door to the commander's office she was greeted by a soldier who gave her a pitying look.

"My apologies, Lady Herald. The commander is not to be disturbed this evening save for an absolute emergency."

"I...oh...okay," Elenora babbled, feeling rather stupid. "Would you tell him I came by when he makes an appearance?"

"On your word, milady."

Elenora's mind churned as she made her slow decent back to the tavern, opting to get another drink at the bar and hide away in a corner on the second floor. Had she done something wrong? Had she misread the commander? Why now would he keep himself away? She was pulled from her thoughts by the sound of the chair across from her scraping across the floor, an uninvited guest taking a seat across from her.

"Solas."

"Lady Inquisitor."

Elenora snorted at the formality.

"What do you want?"

"Is it always to be this way between us?"

"You made it this way when you pushed me away."

"I believe _you _made it this way when you quite literally shoved me away at Halamshiral."

"Only because you were treating me like some brothel slut!"

"Hey, Boss."

It was Bull, his good eye narrowing as he took in the two of them.

"Sera's challenged Blackwall to a drinking contest. C'mon, you're missing the good part."

"Now _that _sounds like a worthy use of my time. Good evening, Solas."

"Inquisitor."

Elenora downed the rest of her ale and allowed Bull to escort her back downstairs, ignoring Solas's piercing gaze. She stayed awhile to watch Blackwall and Sera do their best to ensure permanent damage to their livers, but the evening was spoiled and she longed for bed and time alone. When she was sure no one would notice she slipped away, intent on climbing into bed and sleeping off the angry lump in her throat, but movement in the shadows behind the tavern caught her eye.

It was Fairbanks, one arm above his head holding the wrists of someone else against the wall of the Herald's Rest. His other arm was about the person's waist, his leg pushed between their legs, his lips and tongue exploring the other's mouth. Elenora had to stifle a gasp as she spotted the tell-tale curled mustache that revealed the other person to be none other than Dorian. She crept away as quickly and quietly as she could back into the keep, glad to see that Dorian was happy, but unable to quell the pang of jealousy that ran through her.


	9. Chapter 9

The next morning Elenora sat in the main hall at Varric's table, finishing the reports she'd neglected the evening before. The dwarf was good company in the early mornings, when Skyhold was quiet and only the runners and the ambassador were up.

"Sent a letter to your mother yesterday," Varric rumbled, interrupting Elenora in the middle of checking off requisition requests.

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Told her if she ever wanted the story of Guinevere Graves to be made into a proper memoire, just give me the word."

"Oh for the love of— of _course _you did. And she'd just love that too: Swords and Shields is a favorite of hers."

"See? All the more reason her story should be captured by an author she trusts!"

"Just do me a favor and skip any of the smutty bits, okay? I don't think I'd ever live down the embarrassment."

"Can't guarantee that, Shimmers."

"Ugh."

"Now you sound like the Seeker."

A few more moments passed, quills scribbling away, parchment rustling. Varric paused every so often, seeming as though he wanted to say something, but reconsidering it and returning to his work.

"What's on your mind, Varric?" Elenora asked after the fourth time he stopped to deliberate.

"I was wondering... you and Curly?"

Elenora slumped down into her seat, looking as though she wanted to disappear.

"Nothing to tell. Nothing there."

"Yet," Varric returned, smirking. "Solas did come back into the main keep grumbling about our dear Inquisitor 'feeling up soldiers in the garden'."

"He did NOT say that."

"He did. To a sizable audience, too. There's a few rumors about who it might be, but I thought maybe you and Curly..."

"It wasn't anyone because I wasn't 'feeling someone up' in the garden. Cullen and I had a drink, but there's nothing more to it."

"Inquisitor?"

Scout Jim had appeared, absolutely oblivious to the conversation being had in front of him.

"Yes? What is it?"

"Message for you, Ser," he said, handing her a folded piece of paper.

"Thank you, Jim."

"It's from the commander."

"_Thank you, Jim_," Elenora griped through gritted teeth, trying to ignore the way Varric had shoved all his work aside and began furiously scribbling on a fresh sheet.

Elenora considered returning to her room to read the letter, but decided whether the message was bad news or good, she may as well find out then and there.

_Inquisitor,_

_Forgive my absence yesterday at Herald's Rest. I'm told there was a memorable celebration of your victory in The Emerald Graves. Something about Blackwall and Sera nearly poisoning themselves with liquor from Seheron? I regret being unable to see it myself. _

_I'm told you stopped by last evening. I apologize for being unable to join you, but I was feeling rather unwell. Please stop by again this morning if you should have the time. There's something we need to discuss _

_Cullen_

Elenora swallowed hard when she reached the last line of the letter. The relief she had felt upon reading that Cullen was simply sick last night washing away after seeing 'something we need to discuss'. That couldn't mean anything good.

She excused herself from Varric, who hardly noticed her as he was still writing at a breakneck pace, and she slowly made her way to Cullen's office.

"Enter," he called after she'd knocked on his door, his voice sounding a bit shakier than normal.

Elenora crept slowly into the room, not knowing what to expect, but feeling that the very air within the office seemed heavy. Cullen was sat at his desk, head rested in his left hand, his right holding a report just inches from his face.

"Cullen?"

He looked up, a sad but polite smile tugging at his lips almost painfully.

"Inquisitor," he croaked, "I'm glad you came."

He gestured for Elenora to come closer. Once she crossed the room she placed the back of her hand against his throat. He was cold, clammy, and paler than ever.

"Don't tell me my Ferelden Lion has fallen to prey to the cold? What will Dorian say when he hears?"

Cullen tried for a laugh and grasped her hand, placing a dry-lipped kiss on the back of it and making the Inquisitor's heart flutter.

"Not a cold, I'm afraid."

"Your letter said we needed to discuss something. Are the two related?"

Cullen nodded, waving for her to bring over the second chair left neglected in the corner. Not one to listen to instructions, Elenora cleared off the corner of his desk instead, sitting lotus-style on its edge. Her antics seemed to be cheering Cullen up some, but something still seemed to be bothering him.

"You're familiar with how Templar's acquire their power?"

"Of course! Lots of push-ups and sexual frustration at the behest of the Chantry."

The commander actually managed a proper laugh at this, making Elenora break out into a wicked grin.

"Buuuut if it's not the sex and sword swinging you mean, you must mean the lyrium."

"Yes, lyrium," Cullen sighed, finally sobering. "It's all consuming, lyrium. Powerful, but comes at a serious price to the mind and body. I... I must confess I am no longer taking it."

Elenora's smirk faded in an instant.

"Wait... but can't that kill you?"

"It can."

"Cullen..."

"This was not something I did lightly, Inquisitor," Cullen continued, standing and beginning to pace. "I...could not continue on with the Templars after all I'd seen. After what I had done. Kinloch hold was a nightmare. I watched my fellow templars die, saw our wards turned into abominations, watched mages turn violent— they imprisoned me. Tortured me. Made me watch... I could not be the same man after that. And so in Kirkwall... The man I became... I don't know that I could've stood beside men like Dorian. Could lead and army alongside free mages. Could—"

"Care for a mage like me," Elenora whispered.

"Ah. I... heard a rumor," He returned lamely.

"It's true. I was born a mage and my magic was kept hidden. Today will actually be the first time I ever practice with Dorian and Vivienne. I...I can't say I didn't wonder what you might think of me now."

"I see you no differently than I did before," Cullen said, quickly crossing the room to place his hands about Elenora's waist. "Maker, you are incredible. Being a mage makes you only more so. But me... I'm unhinged as it is. And without lyrium—"

"Cullen if you think I'm incredible, I don't even have the words for what you are. You've been without lyrium this long and lead us through the ordeal at Adamant. Even more impressive, you suffered an entire Orlesian ball without smiting someone."

Cullen smiled again, allowing himself to press his forehead against Elenora's.

"Do you really believe I can—"

"Yes, Cullen. I do."

"Okay...okay."

Slowly, reluctantly, the two separated, Cullen chancing a quick kiss against the Inquisitor's lips.

"I haven't forgotten dinner. As soon as I'm well, I intend for us to have our uninterrupted evening alone."

"I look forward to it. Get better soon, vhenan."

"Vhenan?"

"I...I'll tell you what it means when we have our dinner."

"Hmm."

Elenora's heart felt as though it was going to leap out of her chest as she closed the door to Cullen's office. She hadn't even used the word with Solas. It also wasn't like amatus, not something one could use with very close friends and family. No, vhenan was strictly for a lover. Maybe it was too soon, but the word came so easily to her that it felt right. Cullen really and truly seemed like he could be the one.

/

"I do believe we've exhausted our darling Inquisitor enough for the afternoon, dear. Shall we spend some time cooling down?"

Dorian, Elenora, and Vivienne had taken up residence in the little space beside the stables where Heir had trained the Inquisitor as an assassin. It was a strategic placement: somewhere where the visitors, mages, and troops within Skyhold would see their leader was practicing the arcane arts, but far enough away that they'd bother no one.

They sat on the ground, legs crossed, all three of them stretching after a two hour long lesson. Elenora was already proving an adept mage, able to conjure basic spells with little thought or effort, but still needing guidance through the more complex ones. Dorian hypothesized that the anchor, which she had already mastered, was working as a conduit through which she could channel her own magic, stabilizing it as she cast. Vivienne was less taken with this idea, instead offering that elves and 'vints seemed to be more naturally inclined toward the practice. Elenora wagered she didn't care, as long as she was useful.

"So, Dorian," Elenora cooed, cracking and rolling her neck, "have anything to tell us? Have a good time at the Herald's Rest last night? Or should I say _behind _Herald's Rest last night?"

Dorian went red about the ears. Vivienne took on a rather amused look.

"Yes darling, I heard a rumor that a certain mage and a certain reinstated nobleman had quite the eventful evening last night. Are we mistaken?"

"You are not. Fairbanks and I did enjoy each other's company last evening. What of it?" Dorian returned, haughtiness dripping from every word.

"Nothing at all my dear. Nothing wrong with a bit of fun."

"You may be as surprised to hear as I was that Fairbanks doesn't intend for this to be 'a bit of fun'. He...plans to court me. I confess I don't know where precisely to go from here. I've...never had anyone that wanted 'after'."

"You deserve 'after', Dorian! Although I almost feel bad for Fairbanks. Courting you sounds like a nightmare. If he wears the wrong socks to bed you'll have him out on his ass."

Dorian laughed, feeling the tension leave him. Even Vivienne cracked a serene smile.

"Fairbanks is a wonderful match for you my dear. He seems an honorable man. Let us pray he gives me no reason to think otherwise."

"Thank you, Lady Vivienne. Although, we're talking an awful lot about my love life when our dear Inquisitor slipped out of the commander's chambers to meet with us. Something we should know, amatus? Decide to take Evara's advice after all?"

"Since when are you on a first name basis with my mother?"

"Since the two of us started writing each other at every possible chance, stop dodging the question."

"I...It's...going somewhere, I think. I just know every time I'm around him I can't breathe properly, nor form a proper sentence."

"Rumor has it he's just as taken with you, darling," Vivienne sighed, looking almost wistful at the thought of such a romance. "A southern Templar and an elven mage. A tale for the ages."

"Don't let Varric hear you say that, he's already started writing."

The three began the ascent back to the keep, pausing a moment at the first landing to take in the soldiers sparring. Every now and again a ring was set out for the men to hone their skills and blow off some steam. So long as no one walked away with any serious injuries, they were allowed to carry on, displays such as this having the added benefit of impressing visiting nobles. Fairbanks had been among the people in the audience, and upon locking eyes with Dorian, he tossed a hand up, shouting that he had next in the ring.

"Aww look, Dorian. Your lover means to get himself skewered in the name of impressing you. How quaint."

"Don't be ridiculous," Dorian grumbled back to Vivienne, but his face had already gone red.

Elenora was too busy looking behind Fairbanks at Solas, who seemed to be pointedly ignoring her, piercing gaze burning into someone on the other side of the ring. She followed his gaze to Cullen, whom had come down from his tower. He looked better than he had that morning, standing upright in a parade rest as he spoke to one of his officers, casting lazy, longing glances at the sparing ring. At one point he spotted Elenora. Then he followed her eyes to Solas. The two men stared each other down for an impossibly long moment before Cullen signaled that he would duel Fairbanks.

"Oh this just got even better," Vivienne laughed, looking back and forth between Dorian and Elenora, whose eyes were widening.

"Cullen isn't even well!" Elenora lamented. "He shouldn't be fighting a nug, much less Fairbanks."

"A shame. So you concede that my Fairbanks is sure to win this duel?"

"The hell I did! Cullen could still mop the floor with Fairbanks on his worse day."

"You'd put money on that?"

"I'd put the spiced wine I smuggled out of Halamshiral on it."

"It's a deal then. One bottle of wine says my amatus beats yours."

"You wish."

In the ring, Cullen and Fairbanks shook hands. When the noble met eyes with Dorian again he smirked and offered to Cullen, "I believe I'm at a disadvantage, Commander. You have a full shirt of armor where I do not."

"I'm more than happy to level the playing field if it suits you," Cullen returned, the two of them slowly beginning to circle one another.

"It would."

Cullen cast aside his mantle, unbuckling his cuirass as Fairbanks pulled off his jacket. Elenora felt her skin grown warm as the two men began circling again, now clad only in breeches and boots.

"My my, what a show," Dorian breathed huskily beside her.

"Keep your greedy eyes on Fairbanks," Elenora hissed.

"No guarantees."

Cullen took hold of a shield and blunted short sword, while Fairbanks swung two blunted daggers. Elenora felt a surge of pride looking on: She figured Fairbanks for a warrior, but learning that Dorian's lover was a fellow rogue warmed her heart.

"Have at you!"

She was torn from thought as the two lunged at one another, Cullen blocking blows with his shield and then sweeping Fairbank's legs, earning a whoop from his troops. Fairbanks recovered quickly, however, springing off his back and landing right back on his feet, earning a few gasps from the ladies in the audience. He surged toward Cullen again, spinning, blades a veritable tornado as he made contact with the commander's shield again and again, pushing him back toward the edge of the ring. When he slowed to strike at Cullen's exposed side the warrior bashed him with his shield, knocking him off balance. Cullen gave him no time to recover, swinging his sword down overhead. Fairbank's caught the swing between crossed blades. They stayed locked together, each pushing against the other's blade, waiting to see who would give out first.

"Come on Commander!"

"Give him hell, Fairbanks!"

Fairbanks slashed Cullen's sword away, swinging again but making contact with nothing as the commander dove away. Varric was wandering through the crowd now, taking bets on who would win. It seemed the audience was torn between the swiftness of the rogue and the raw strength of the warrior.

Their swords continued to clash, Elenora's hands clasped under her chin as she watched the commander breathlessly. It was like watching a dance, dangerous and calculated, push and pull. The flush would not leave her cheeks as she drank in the view of Cullen, muscles rippling, sweat dripping—

He was beautiful.

They went on for a few moments more, both running off of nothing but adrenaline. It seemed Fairbanks was about to take the battle, Cullen's poor health catching up with him, but he met Elenora's gaze again, and then Solas's glare. With a roar he charged Fairbanks, knocking him onto his back again, pointing his sword at the noble's throat.

"I...I yield!" Fairbanks gasped.

Dorian groaned as he watched his lover clasp the ex-Templars hand, allowing him to pull him up. They clapped each other on the shoulders, congratulating one another on a battle well fought. Cullen ignored the angry shouts of those who had bet on Fairbanks as well as the surge of well-wishers that came down as he left the ring. He shoved past them all, eyes never leaving Elenora's. As soon as he was close enough he pulled her in, hands grabbing her ass, mouth choking off her surprised squeak as his lips devoured hers. The whoops and hollers from the crowd were deafening, and several people caught the dirty look Cullen shot Solas when he broke apart from Elenora.

"Well," the Herald gasped, still dazed, "I suppose the secret is out then?"

"Does it bother you?" Cullen asked, the husk to his voice sending a shiver down Elenora's spine.

"No...not at all."

And their lips met again.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: I should be back to my regular upload schedule after this. This also marks the fic moving up to an M rating. Thank you all for being patient and sticking with me while my laptop was being fixed!**

The South was cold in general, but the Emprise was a veritable frozen tundra. Elenora was grateful for the second pair of thick socks she wore under her boots as she and the rest of her party trudged their way through the snow and ice.

The weather wasn't the only thing frigid either amongst the team of four. Cole had tagged along on the mission to seize control of Samson's lyrium supply, making everyone clench their teeth as he dove inappropriately through their thoughts. Blackwall— no, Ranier— had come too, eager to prove himself after he was revealed to be the treacherous chevalier responsible for the deaths of an Orlesian noble family. Elenora had been quick to forgive him, readily understanding that nearly everyone in her camp had a rather sordid past, but still, he was eager to show that he was still loyal to their cause. Worst of all, however, was the mage accompanying the Inquisitor: Dorian had excused himself from the mission, citing work to be done gathering favors from the Imperium. Vivienne was busy handling a personal matter for the Lady Herald, no doubt tittering away with her seamstress. With her two first choices out, that left only Solas, who was doing his absolute best to pretend the Inquisitor didn't exist.

It was misery upon misery, but Elenora tried to console herself with the thought of the letter she'd received on the morning before their departure.

_Elle,_

_I hope your mission to the Emprise is fruitful. Please be careful.__ I know it's silly for me to worry, but I've seen the Red Templars in battle; they are fearsome. When you return, I believe I've found some time for that dinner I'd promised. _

_Looking forward to your safe return,_

_Cullen_

Elenora wasted little time asking Vivienne if she could set aside something for her to wear, but the Enchanter wouldn't have it, immediately calling for her tailors. She adored the way Cullen addressed her as 'Elle', the name sounding warm and familiar. Her heart hammered faster each time she thought of the prospect of their date, wondering where the night would take them.

"_Cheeks growing hot as the campfires we make at night— is he thinking of me now? Praise be to Sylaise for bringing him to me, he lights my heart aflame and with every breath I long to be his."_

"COLE! Some thoughts really ought not to be shared, you know," Elenora gasped.

"I'm...sorry. Could you try not to think them so loudly?"

Blackwall snorted. Solas looked disgusted. Elenora was relieved to see the telltale aura of red that told them they had reached their destination.

"There!" She hissed in a hushed tone. "Okay, everyone remember, we need to be careful about this. We don't want to hurt anyone they have captive. Ready, Solas?"

Solas nodded, face now fixed in concentration.

"Alright, as we planned."

The other three ducked into cover as Elenora cloaked herself, creeping forward into the enemy encampment. Once she was close enough she dropped the illusion, waving her arms at the numerous Templars guarding the camp.

"Hey! Over here, freaks!"

They charged her at once. Elenora stood her ground, waiting for them to get close enough, away from the cages containing the townspeople.

"NOW SOLAS!"

A rift opened above them and Elenora dove into safety, just in time to see the abominations crushed under Fadestone. They made quick work of the cages, checking prisoners over to be sure they'd make the long trek back into town safely.

"Well," Elenora piped up cheerfully, "that was easy!"

"Sure!" Solas replied, mocking her gleeful tone, "now to do it half a dozen more times!"

They wound their way through the supply line, Elenora serving as bate, Cole and Solas alternating between bringing the Fade down on the enemy's head, or raining arrows down upon them. Blackwall kept up the rear, taking care of any stragglers that got away. It turned out to be an exhausting mission, but it was methodical in nature and went off surprisingly well. By the time they began the long journey back to Skyhold, nearly all of them were ready to collapse, all but Elenora who was giddy with excitement for the evening ahead.

"Alright everyone, notes," she said, hopping off of her horse once they reached Skyhold's stable, the sun only just beginning it's downward arc toward the horizon. "Blackwall, get that wound checked out as soon as possible. I want to be sure it wasn't tainted by lyrium. If anyone gives you shit tell them they'll have me to answer to. Cole, make sure to have your bow restrung, I noticed it was looking loose there for a bit. And Solas—"

"I'm fine, Inquisitor."

Elenora let out a long sigh, rolling her eyes.

"I was only going to ask if you had enough lyrium potions. You were great out there, but I know opening rifts like that can take a lot out of you."

"I can take care of myself, Lady Inquisitor."

Seeing Elenora wince at his harsh tone, Solas reconsidered, softening slightly.

"But... as you mention it, I am running low. Thank you, Inquisitor, I will see to that matter."

"No problem," Elenora returned, smile returning. "Alright, I think that's everything. Should you need anything before tomorrow afternoon take it up with Josephine, she should be able to help. If you have reports done early Leliana or one of the scouts can take them. At your leave."

"And what of you, my lady?" Blackwall asked.

"I have an engagement this evening. Important Inquisitorial...stuff. Either way I just won't be available tonight unless Skyhold is on fire."

"Heard," the warrior answered, stumbling off toward the healers.

As Solas departed Elenora turned toward the tower containing Cullen's office. Would he still have time? Was he feeling well? Did he even still want her to—

A cold hand on her shoulder snapped Elenora out of her thoughts.

"Yes, Cole?"

"He's waiting for you."

And Cole simply smiled before bidding her goodnight, leaving her heart aflutter.

/

Elenora tried to look as casual as possible as she walked, or really practically jogged, through the main tower after her bath, allowing herself to let out a childish squeal once the door to her chambers was closed behind her. She started slightly, however, at the sound of voices coming from the top of the stairs.

"It's perfect. Simple and classic, nothing like the gaudy mess a Tevinter seamstress would have cooked up for the occasion."

"So you're admitting your people air on the side of gaudiness, darling?"

"Not at all. Only that they'd have made something in poor taste for _this_ occasion."

As she crested the top of the stairs, Dorian and Vivienne came into view, the Tevinter sitting on her bed, stroking a purring Tilly, and the Orlesian fussing over something lacy by the table.

"There she is! The woman of the hour!" Dorian proclaimed, bowing as dramatically as he possibly could with the cat in his lap.

"What are you two up to in here?"

"Dorian did such a lovely job with your makeup for Halamshiral, I asked if he wouldn't mind helping again. Plus he wanted to see you off, my dear."

"Why do I feel like my mom and dad are getting me ready for my first ball?"

"Don't be absurd, amatus," Dorian said, rising from the bed and ushering the elf into a chair. "We just want to certain you look your best for such a momentous occasion."

"Speaking of looking your best," Vivienne continued, a prideful smile making its way across her face. "You must see what we've prepared for you. We fought for hours over what we thought would be best, but eventually I made my tailors see reason."

She brandished a dress from off of the table. It was floor length and black, an off the shoulder gown with long sleeves. Though it was simple, it wasn't without intrigue, a high slit climbing up its right side.

"Vivienne it's stunning," Elenora breathed, staring awestruck at the gown from the corner of her eye as Dorian worked at her liner.

"Oh but you haven't seen the best part: what goes underneath."

The Enchanter picked up a lacy bodysuit, trimmed in black and somehow precisely the same shade of red as Elenora's hair, shimmering mesh panels sparkling gold where the light caught it.

"There's...lingerie. Why is there lingerie?"

"Because my darling girl, we all know where this whirlwind romance between you and the commander is headed. You may as well be properly dressed for the occasion."

"Okay now I feel less like I'm being prepared for the ball and more like I'm being prepared for the brothel."

"Now now, don't pout, amatus. We're only trying to help."

"But—"

"Hush, you'll ruin your lipstick."

After roughly half an hour more of primping and prepping the sun had finally set, the sky swirling pinks and blues as the evening set in. There was a knock at the door as Dorian and Vivienne put the final touches on Elenora's look, the entire ensemble giving her a vixen-like look.

"Good evening Lady Inquisitor," began the one of the scouts once he'd reached the top of the stairs, "forgive the intrusion, but the commander is asking after you."

"Tell him I'm on my way now," Elenora responded, trying to ignore the way the scout's eyes roamed over her.

As the scout left with her message, she took a deep breath, trying to settle her nerves.

"Don't fret, darling, it causes wrinkles."

"Everything will be fine, amatus. It's sure to be a memorable evening."

Elenora nodded, thanking them both for all their help before making her way to Cullen's office. Once she arrived she didn't even have the opportunity to ground herself before knocking, the same scout from earlier swinging open the door and announcing her arrival.

Never, in all the time that Elenora had known the commander, did she figure him for the romantic type. But as she made her way into the room it was clear she'd misjudged him. All the rubble and stray piles of wood had been cleared away. Instead, tea candles burned on every viable surface of the office. The floor was littered with rose petals, and the wonderful aroma of a fine dinner wafted through the room.

"Inquisitor! For a moment I was worried you— _Maker."_

Cullen was a sight to behold. He was wearing a simple white shirt with billowed sleeves and breeches just tight enough to compliment his strong legs. But for as handsome as Elenora found him, he was at a clear loss for words at the sight of her. She did her best to stand just as Vivienne had taught her, leg cocked to show off the slit in the gown that was just high enough to allow a peak of red lace to show underneath. She enjoyed the affect it had, Cullen swallowing hard as he traced the line of her leg with his eyes.

"Andraste preserve me. You're as beautiful as ever."

"You're not bad yourself, I suppose."

Cullen chuckled, crossing the room to sweep her up in his arms.

"You clean up nice," Elenora whispered, allowing herself to breathe in the scent of him: mountain pine and spice.

"I do hope I did okay with the decor. Josephine had a number of suggestions. I did what I could."

"Cullen it's beautiful. I couldn't ask for more from you."

"Wouldn't you," Cullen muttered hoping she wouldn't hear as he separated from her. She pretended not to and did her best to hide the shiver the words caused.

The two took their seats, Cullen revealing a platter of roasted pheasant and potatoes, which Elenora did her best to eat as ladylike as possible, though she was truly starving after getting off the road.

"I trust everything went well in the Emprise?" Cullen asked, pouring her a glass of wine.

"Deceptively simple mission actually. We're right on Samson's tail, now. Although I have to say I could do with never going back there. 'Empire of the Lion' my ass, I was freezing my tits off the whole time. Had to steal Blackwall's coat at one point."

"Does it not get cold in the Free Marches, then?"

"It does, and it snows in the winters, too, but nothing like in the Emprise or here in the mountains. I like the southern weather but I could do with less ice. What's it like in the flat lands of Ferelden? Was Honnleath like this?"

"Probably colder than the Free Marches, but still not as bad as here in the Frostbacks. One year my sister, Mia, dared me to lick the ice out on the lake to see what happened. My mother had to boil water and dump it on me to get me unstuck. She tells that story nearly every winter to anyone who will listen."

Elenora laughed at the thought of a baby Cullen waving his arms about, tongue stuck to the ice in the dead of winter.

"We had one really bad year when I was about 16. One of the Halla got loose and dove straight into a snow bank. Took me ages to find it and dig it out. D'you know how hard it is to find a _white_ creature in _white _snow?"

It was Cullen's turn to laugh now, envisioning a shivering elf plowing through the snow in search of her missing steed.

"Do you think you'll return to the Free Marches? After this is over?"

"For a time. I do miss my clan, and I want to spend a bit more time with my mother while she's still young enough to get into trouble with me. But after that, I think I'll travel for a while. I want to see more of the Dales and even visit Tevinter before I'm too old and worn to handle myself. What about you? Back to the farm life after this?"

"Perhaps. I think there may be more Templars out there like me looking to free themselves from their 'lyrium leashes' as Cassandra puts it. I've given some thought to opening up a clinic to aid them."

"That's a noble undertaking."

"Thank you. I'd like to hope I can spend my twilight years helping the people who gave me my start, no matter how poorly things turned out in the end."

"I thought about what I might do when I grow weary of travelling. We've found a number of abandoned elven keeps while on the field. I thought maybe I'd call in a few favors and clean one up like my clan did, and like we did here with Skyhold."

Elenora rose from her chair, suddenly feeling restless. She crossed over to the window, looking out at the soldiers and agents ducking in and out of Herald's Rest.

"It certainly wouldn't be as grand as the Inquisition, but I think I could still do some good. If I can find somewhere even half the size of Skyhold, we could certainly fit a Templar clinic."

"You'd want to help me?"

Cullen joined her at the window, standing close, staring down at the elf with that puppyish look of curiosity.

"There's seldom I wouldn't do for you at this point, Commander."

Cullen drew her in close pressing a hand against her cheek. She leaned into the touch, eyes becoming heavy lidded. Cullen swallowed hard, making her smirk.

"You... called me something a little while ago. You told me you would tell me what it meant."

"Mm. Vhenan. 'My heart'."

"Andraste, what has my wicked soul done to deserve such a woman?"

Elenora opened her mouth to protest but Cullen cut her off with his own. She leaned into him, pushing him backwards as they kissed, giggling when she'd backed him into his desk. He lifted her up and sat her on the corner not occupied by plates and glasses, pressing himself inbetween her legs. Instinctively, she wrapped her legs around his waist, chasing his lips, shivering as he separated from her to kiss a trail down her throat, making her moan as he nipped at the sensitive flesh where her neck met her shoulder.

Elenora gripped her hands in his hair as he continued biting marks into her flesh, reveling in how hungrily he devoured her, grinding her hips against his, making his breath hitch in his throat.

"Perhaps," she gasped as he dug his fingers into the exposed skin of her thigh, "we should move this upstairs?"

"Are...are you certain?"

"_Cullen."_

She pulled back from him and stared him in the eyes letting him see the clear lust written all over her face. He said nothing, but swept her up from the desk, tossing her over his shoulder with virtually no effort. It broke the tension of the moment, Elenora bursting out laughing as he carried her up the ladder, beating her fists playfully against his back.

"You absolute southern barbarian!"

"Hush," Cullen laughed, lifting her into a proper bridal carry once they reached the top of the ladder.

He settled her down on the bed and paused, letting her have the opportunity to change her mind.

"Cullen please," Elenora breathed. "I want this. I want you."

It seemed to be all he needed to hear as he tugged his shirt off in one smooth motion, climbing into the bed with her. Elenora made to remove her gown as well, but he shooed her hands away.

"Let me."

He pulled the dress over her head, tossing it onto the floor behind him. He stopped once it was off, eyes widening at the sight of the elf in her negligee.

"Maker's breath, you mean to be the end of me. How could one person be so beautiful?"

"I could ask the same about you."

They kissed again, hands clutching at newly exposed skin, Elenora hissing and digging her nails into his back as he continued his assault on her neck. She was sure to have bruises in the morning. He moved lower, kissing his way down her sternum, hands sliding up her sides to slip the straps of her top off. Slowly he pulled the fabric down until her breasts were fully exposed, making the Inquisitor turn a pretty shade of pink about the ears and nose. He traced the curve of one nipple ring with his finger, being careful not to make any contact with skin, enjoying the way she writhed beneath him from the teasing.

"I can't say I haven't had at least one fantasy about these since seeing them through your gown at Halamshiral."

"Oh? The chantry boy was having naughty thoughts about his Inquisitor? Tsk tsk what would Andr- OH!"

Cullen tugging gently at the ring with a crooked finger shut her up mid-sentence, her jeers turning into a gasping moan.

"You were saying?"

"I was _saying _that the Maker's bride would be disappointed to know that— _ah_!"

"That's what I thought."

Cullen stopped teasing, finally, bringing his head down to flick his tongue over an already over sensitive nipple. Elenora gasped and moaned and he licked and nipped at her, mimicking the movement on the other nipple with his fingers before switching. The Inquisitor was a mewling, writhing mess, bucking her hips into his and begging him to stop teasing. Finally, he separated from her to remove his breeches, Elenora taking the opportunity to cast away the rest of her lacy underthings. She balked at the sight of the bulge present in Cullen's small clothes, mouth growing dry when she noticed the slight wetspot already forming in them. She laid back down to allow Cullen to climb over her, sweeping her into a kiss once more.

"Are you certain about this? We can stop if you want to. We don't need to go any further."

"Cullen, take me. I'm already yours."

Cullen swallowed hard again, but nodded pulling off his small clothes just as swiftly as he had done his shirt. He was around the same length as Solas, the Herald remarked, but he had him beat in girth. He chanced a hand across his length, sweeping up a drop of precum with her fingertips and licking it off. Cullen shivered and swore under his breath. He pushed her legs up, fingers ghosting over her stomach before rolling over the swollen bundle of nerves at her core. She cried out, hips lifting off of the bed before Cullen pinned her back down. He continued rubbing his thumb over the sensitive spot, watching her gasp and babble in half a dozen languages, making him grin. He stopped before she went over the edge, removing his thumb and slowly easing his middle finger into her, marveling at how wet she was for him.

"Fuck, Cullen, you're...I...shit, I'm not some blushing virgin, just hurry up and put it in already!"

"All in good time," Cullen chuckled, working her over, slowly sliding in a second finger, making her arch and hiss.

Finally, to Elenora's relief, he pulled away, leaving her feeling empty for a moment until he lined himself up with her entrance.

"Are y—"

"If you ask me if I'm sure one more time, the guards are going to be cleaning chantry boy brains off of the ceiling."

That was all it took for Cullen to shove himself in with one push, making Elenora see stars. Fearing another reprimand, he moved slowly, removing all but the head before roughly sinking himself back in. Elenora was gasping again, closing her eyes and turning her head away as he picked up the pace, muttering curses under his breath. He grabbed her chin and pulled her face back toward him.

"Look at me. I want to see you come undone."

Elenora obeyed opening her eyes again, biting her lip. It seemed to drive Cullen over the edge, and with a few more strokes his vision went blurry, ears ringing as he came. Elenora followed soon after, digging her nails into his back and shouting his name.

They collapsed together, a panting mess. Soon the pants gave way to laughter and Cullen pulled the small elf close to his chest.

"That...that was...wow."

"Better than Solas?"

Elenora laughed.

"Jealous type, Commander?"

"No. Well...maybe a little."

Elenora craned her neck up to kiss his nose.

"Much better. Solas is all fairy kisses and sighs. You, you're fire and passion."

She tried her best to stifle a yawn, but she couldn't help it, all the time in the Emprise finally catching up to her. Cullen adjusted awkwardly, pulling the blanket up over both of them.

"Y...you want me to stay?"

"Would you?"

"Yes. Mind blowing sex and I get my own personal Ferelden barbarian to keep me warm? What more could I ask for?"

"No more blights? The death of Corypheus?"

"Well, what more could I ask for within the bounds of reason."

"Ah. In that case I suppose not much."

They curled together again, Cullen gently stroking her back.

"There...is something more I would ask for. Within the bounds of reason, I hope."

"Hmm?"

"Could you sing that song again? The Tevinter lullaby you sang in the garden?"

"Oh! Of course."

Elenora sang quietly for minute or two until it was clear Cullen was soundly asleep. Once she was sure he wouldn't stir, she closed her eyes, finally drifting off with a smile on her face.

/

When morning broke Elenora was alone, shivering in the bed which felt too large without the other occupant. She worried, for a moment, that the commander had changed his mind about her, decided she was only good for a quick fuck and then cast her aside. Her eyes burned as she rose from the bed, ignoring the way it creaked loudly, getting ready to swear off southern men forever.

"Elle?"

It was Cullen. Of course it was. Suddenly she felt rather stupid, remembering that the man's life didn't revolve around her and that he was likely already up, dressed, and working. Her suspicions were confirmed when she reached the bottom of the ladder, wrapped in only a sheet, and made eye contact with Cullen, hard at work at his desk.

"Good morning, _ma leon_," she returned, grinning when his face turned red at her clear nudity.

"I can get a scout to bring you clothes from your room."

"Ugh, I don't want the scouts knowing I'm trying to avoid the walk of shame."

"Perhaps you could—"

There was a knock on the door. Before Cullen could tell the visitor to wait, they barged in. Both were surprised to see a grinning Dorian.

"Ah, good, there you are. When you didn't show up for mage training I figured you'd stayed the night. Vivienne is still waiting for us. Here, clothes," He said quickly tossing the Inquisitors usual Skyhold outfit to her.

"Shit, I forgot about practice! Thanks Dori!"

"Of course amatus."

As the Inquisitor scurried back up the ladder to get dressed, Dorian rounded on an blushing Cullen. He opened his mouth to speak, but Dorian held up a hand, silencing him.

"Yes, yes, I know all about last night, it was expected. Two things: one, you are a massive asset to the Inquisition and I have much respect for you as our Commander."

"And the second?" Cullen asked.

Dorian walked over to him slowly, eyes dark and menacing. He stopped only once he was practically chest to chest with the commander.

"Break her heart and I will show you horrors that will make Kinloch look like a fairytale."

Cullen swallowed hard and nodded. Before he could respond Elenora reappeared, her presence making Dorian fix his face back into it's usual jovial smirk.

"Heading to meet Viv. See you later Cullen! Come on Dori!" And she left the office, almost skipping. Dorian turned to follow but stopped at Cullen calling after him.

"Yes, Commander?"

"I'm glad she has you, Dorian."

Dorian smiled.

"As am I."

/

"Am I right in assuming last night was everything you were hoping for, darling? You did spend the night after all."

Elenora was focusing hard, doing her best to form a solid wall of flame between herself and her two trainers. As it was, there were gaps between the flames and patches that rose higher than others. The whole thing burst at once at Vivienne's teasing, and the elf could see Dennet poking his head out of the stables to be sure everything was alright.

"It was," Elenora replied, waving the horse master off. "It's official. I'm dating a pious, Mabari-loving southerner."

"If he ever treats you poorly do let me know, dear. We'll cut him down in the chantry as he prays."

"Vivienne! I don't think you have to worry about that with the commander."

"I'd have thought the same about that sad balding vagrant," Dorian sighed, tutting at the singed grass.

Elenora was about to protest when a loud cheer sounded from the second landing of Skyhold's outdoors.

"Must be the soldier's sparring," she said, shrugging.

"Not quite, dear. The mages and templars decided to blow off some steam. They want to see who will win the most rounds against each other."

"And we're missing it?! Come on, I can terrorize Dennet and his horses later."

A mage and a templar were in the ring, both panting and looking at the soldier keeping track of the bouts on a chalk board. The Templar team roared in fury as another tally was added in favor of the mages, making them tied seven to seven.

"I got next!" Elenora shouted, clambering into the ring as soon as she, Dorian, and Vivienne crested the top of the stairs.

No one moved. No one hardly even blinked, no one foolish enough to fight the Inquisitor.

"No one? Not a single one of you? I suppose this round goes to the mages by default then! Which means—"

"Not so fast, Lady Inquisitor."

Cullen climbed into the ring, shooting the Inquisitor a wicked grin.

"You didn't think I'd let my men suffer victory by forfeit, did you? A pity for the mages, It's obvious to everyone here that I'll come out on top."

"Funny, as I recall it was _me _coming on top last night."

Several oohs and scandalized gasps sounded in the crowd. Cullen turned beet red, but recovered quickly.

"Perhaps you recall incorrectly. If last night is anything to go by, being dominated by a Templar should make you feel right at home."

More laughter and gasps. This time Elenora was blushing.

"Bold words, little lion. You'll be a scorch mark on the floor in mere minutes."

"Oh? Strong words from an apprentice mage. Let us hope Madame De Fer and Lord Pavus taught you something worthwhile!"

Cullen lunged at her, causing her to roll away, haphazardly casting fire at his feet with her hands. He swung his sword at the base of the flames, dispelling them in an instant.

"Staff, Inquisitor!" Dorian shouted. "Use the staff!"

"Oh!"

Elenora jabbed Cullen in the center of his chest plate causing him to lose balance before she swept his legs, knocking him completely over.

"Not what I meant, amatus!"

"OH! Duh!"

Before Cullen could recover she cast a barrage of properly formed fireballs, leaving him to kneel and deflect them with his shield. She charged him, leaping into the air, staff held overhead—

And had the wind knocked out of her as Cullen bashed her with his shield.

"Oww."

"Do you concede Inquisitor?"

"You wish."

She was back up immediately, this time casting lighting through the practice staff. Cullen gasped in pain, muscles stuttering, unable to swing properly. She swung for his head but he blocked it with a gauntlet, grabbing the staff and using her momentum to toss her across the ring.

"A few tricks like that aren't going to take me down, Inquisitor."

"'Trick' this, bitch!"

Above them a rift tore open, unstable and flashing green lighting. Everyone gasped and screamed, shoving each other out of the way as Fadestone hailed down from the rift, Cullen tossing his shield up to block the onslaught. When it finally ceased, Elenora stood, mouth agape, staring at where she'd opened the rift.

"Did you teach her to do that?" Dorian asked Vivienne, equally as shocked as the Inquisitor.

"I certainly did not. My talents lie with the Knight Enchanter class of magic. I don't know the first thing about rift magic."

"I have no idea how I did that. I just...did." Elenora whispered.

"Well then," came a voice from the top of the stairs of the main tower, "It seems the Inquisitor is flowering rift mage. Appropriate, considering the Anchor."

They all turned to see Solas, looking smug.

"As it is, she shares my talents. I'll be happy to take over her training."

And with that he left. And Elenora wished she could disappear.


	11. Interlude

_Dodo,_

_I received your letter just this week. I believe it's an excellent idea. Your father took some warming up to it, fool that he is, but he agreed. I'll prepare everything on our end post haste, but Dorian, you must be sure about this. Once it is done it cannot be undone easily nor without scandal. _

_You could write to me more often, you know. I nearly died when I heard you fled south, and certainly swooned to hear you joined the Inquisition. Even still, it was the right choice to make, however many doubts your father may have. My brave little Dodo out changing the world. How proud I am._

_With all my love,_

_Lady Aquinea of House Pavus, Wife of Magister Pavus_

_/_

_Mother,_

_Yes, I am certain about this. I'll send over any signatures you may need with this letter. _

_I'll try to write more often. Thank you for sending along those cookies I used to like. I did miss them._

_Dorian of House Pavus, Lately of Skyhold, Necromancer to the Lady Inquisitor Lavellan_

_/_

_My Dear Madame De Fer,_

_Scandal of scandals! Is it true what I hear? That Pavus boy is shacking up with some disgraced Orlesian? Tongues are wagging all over Minrathous, you must tell me everything!_

_Your friend,_

_Ser Pasqual of Minrathous_

_/_

_Ser Pasqual_

_Yes, I'm simply wonderful, darling, I've been doing quite well, even with the death of my lover and patron. Oh yes, the mountain chill is something awful, but I've adjusted._

_Oh, forgive me, you didn't ask any of that, did you? Pity, I believed us to be friends._

_What Lord Pavus does is hardly any of your business or mine,_

_V_

_/_

_Amatus,_

_What was that about bedding the commander being "horribly inappropriate" for you to do? Strange, how things have changed._

_I only tease my love, I'm so happy for you. I heard nothing but good things about him from Lady Montilyet and the Lady Nightingale. You'll have to formally introduce me._

_I'm afraid I'm not writing just to tease. Your father never returned home: Venatori murdered him on the roads back to The Free Marches. Evidently they tortured him to get information on you. When he told nothing they cut him down. I'm relieved, at least, that in his last moments he wasn't a coward. It can't undo what was done, but know that he tried at least once to make right by you._

_I hope this all ends soon, my dear. I miss you horribly and long to visit Skyhold again. Clan Lavellan better be the first to know once Corypheus is dispensed with._

_Cheering you on from here in the hills,_

_Lady Gwhen'Evara Lavellan, Second to keeper Lavellan, devotee to Ghilan'nain_

_/_

_Mama,_

_How did I know Dorian had told you about the commander? Yes, it's a thing. We're a thing. And I'm...honestly happier than I could imagine. I know you're planning to visit Skyhold again, but I may bring him to meet the Clan. The Keeper is going to shit herself when she finds out I ended up with a human._

_I am sorry to hear about father. I'm not quite sure how to feel about it yet, but I'll manage. I know things between you two have been bad for years now, but you did love him once, as did I. I hope you're okay._

_We're getting closer to the end of this: soon we'll take down Corypheus's general and then the bastard himself. I'll send my swiftest bird to the keep to herald in the good news_

_I love you Mama, more than words can say,_

_El'Enora_

_/_

_Cullen,_

_"Hi Mia, I'm fine. Been busy, can't write much. Hope you and the family are well. Love, your brother."_

_See? Is that so hard? I haven't heard a THING from you until now, and the last time you wrote me before that, Haven was a smoking pile of ash. That's it, I'm shoving you into a cow pie the next time I see you. _

_I'm glad you're doing well. It terrified me when you told me you weren't taking lyrium, but if anyone can beat it, it's you, Cullen. _

_And when did you start calling the Lady Herald 'Elle'? What's going on? Are you two a thing? You are, aren't you? You totally are. I'm telling sis, she'll be so excited. FINALLY you found someone! Are we going to meet her? Are you bringing her home? Is it true she's a mage? You're really coming full circle if she is you know. I heard she looked absolutely beautiful at the ball in Orlais. Wish I could have been there, sounded like an interesting night._

_WRITE ME SOON. I mean it! Cow pie!_

_Mia_

_/_

_Mia,_

_I'm sorry I didn't write sooner. I know, I say that nearly every letter, but I am sorry. I deserve the cow pie._

_The lyrium withdrawal isn't as bad as it was, but it's still there. Sleep is hard at times, but I'm learning to live with it. Thank you for believing I can do this, it means the world._

_I am only saying this because I know I'll never hear the end of it if I don't: yes, the Lady Inquisitor and I are involved. And yes, she is beautiful. And yes, though I dread the thought of the teasing I'm going to get, I am going to bring her home. She's been asking a lot of questions about life in Ferelden, I figure it's easier to just show her. We'll visit as soon as we're able. _

_Send the family my love,_

_Commander Cullen Rutherford of the Inquisition _

_/_

_Sera,_

_I know you're ignoring me. You have every right. I know my sorries mean piss all to anyone. _

_I have some intel for you, if you'll take it. The man who gave me my orders is still around, still hurting little people. The information is yours if you want it. _

_-TR_

_/_

_Send it over, the Jennies will handle it._

_Still mad at you, yeah? But you're trying. Guess that counts for something. Drinks? Can't promise I won't put bees in it._

_-Sera_

_/_

_Krem,_

_Quit being an idiot and just talk to her. Heard from a maid she fancies you, too._

_Grow a pair,_

_The Iron Bull_

_/_

_Bull,_

_Took your advice. Asked Maryden to dinner. Now Dalish won't stop making fun of me. She said yes though._

_-Krem A._

_/_

_Leliana,_

_I finally met Lord Otranto yesterday evening. My family is set to have us betrothed on my word. He's a bit cocky but he's an honorable man. And he's handsome. And we may have kissed._

_But I still can't get over Blackwall. Or Ranier. This match would solidify my family's place in Antiva just as much as reestablishing trade in Val Royeaux, but still I hesitate. Am I a fool? I have no idea what to do. _

_Lady Josephine Montilyet, Ambassador to the Inquisition_

_/_

_Josie,_

_You're not a fool, but this infatuation with Ranier is misguided. It's likely he will truly join the Wardens one day, and we know what the fate of all Wardens is. Would you subject yourself to such heartbreak over a crush?_

_Take the betrothal to Otranto. My people have researched him, he's a fine match. Marriages can be undone in a number of ways, Josie. Let me handle it if it comes to that._

_-Leliana_

_/_

_Varric,_

_A book? About me? I'm flattered, but you don't have to._

_But since you offered, lets do it! I'm sending along a few old journals of mine, hopefully there's something helpful there for you. We'll have to chat over drinks the next time I'm in Skyhold. I didn't even write the juiciest stuff down._

_Looking forward to seeing you again,_

_Evara_

_/_

_Grand Enchanter Fiona_

_I hope this isn't a bother, I know I'm probably the last person in Skyhold you wish to speak to. That said, there's a matter I hoped you could help me with: I'm doing some research on the Dalish in order to bolster our reputation with outside clans. I'm hoping you could translate the words I've sent along into elvish. _

_Thank you,_

_Commander Rutherford _

_/_

_Commander,_

_I'm not so embittered with the memory of your deeds as a Templar as to be blinded to your current efforts. My mages are doing well under your protection and the Templars amongst the troops are behaving. _

_I will not, however, tolerate you insulting my intelligence. I fail to see what research on the Dalish would require our commander to need translations for words such as "love" and "darling". Obviously you intend to use these on our fair Inquisitor. As such, I refuse to translate these for you. I won't have your sloppy Ferelden tongue bumbling through such words and phrases when they're meant for the Inquisitor._

_Meet me in the early morning for the next few days and I will teach you the Elvhen tongue. Properly. Don't be late. _

_Grand Enchanter Fiona_


	12. Chapter 12

Cullen's cage was silent but for the scuttering of rats and the dripping from the ceiling. It was the most peace he'd known in Kinloch, but his stomach still churned. It was never long before the screaming began or horrors played out before him.

There were footsteps up the tower. Two sets from what he could hear. The door swung open and revealed Samson, not tainted with Red Lyrium, but as he was before. Before being cast out of the Templars and losing his mind to addiction.

"Samson? Samson! Is that really you? Get me out of here! Help me!"

Samson didn't respond to Cullen's cries, instead dropping a mass of robes before Cullen's feet. The mass moved and Samson jerked back it's hood, revealing a weeping, gaunt-faced elf.

"Elle? Inquisitor! What have you done to her?! Leave her!"

Samson ignored him again, unable to hear him. He tipped Elenora's head back, placing a thumb on her forehead and muttering.

"What are you doing? Don't!"

Samson continued his incantation, Elenora's eyes casting over, unseeing. His hands seemed to glow for a moment, and when he pulled away the Inquisitor's head lulled forward. There, on her forehead was the mark of Tranquility.

Cullen screamed until his lungs gave out.

/

Elenora raced down empty corridor after empty corridor, calling for the other members of the Inquisition. Dorian was not in his library. Vivienne was not perched in her chaise on the balcony. Josephine wasn't in her office. Varric wasn't in the main hall. All of Skyhold was entirely empty, every room laid bare as if they'd never been there.

She sprinted up the steps to the parapets, flinging open the door to Cullen's chambers. In the center of the room every single one of her companions lay piled, faces locked in horror, blood soaking their clothes and the floor. Behind the pile holding a bloodied sword was Cullen, smiling so hard his face appeared ready to split. Lodged in the center of his chest was massive shard of Red Lyrium.

/

Elenora heard her own scream before she heard Cullen gasp for air. The entire bed was soaked through with sweat, both panting and pulling their legs to their chests, trying desperately to rid themselves of their dreams.

"I...I saw... oh gods what I saw..."

Cullen untangled himself first, wrapping his arms around Elenora though he was still shaking himself.

"No one was around. I couldn't find anyone and I searched for you and you... the Red Lyrium, it... Dread Wolf take me, I _never_ want to see you like that again."

Cullen ran his hand over her hair, whispering soothing words and holding her while she cried.

"_Ma dar'eth, vhenan. Vir dar'then_."

"I...what?"

Elenora stared up at Cullen, eyes questioning.

"Did...did you just speak Elvish?"

Cullen went pink about the ears.

"I...I think so? Did it make any sense?"

"_You are safe, my love. We are awake..._it did, I understood you perfectly. When did you learn the elven tongue?"

"I may have had help from Fiona," Cullen admitted, scratching the back of his neck. Elenora flung herself on him, wrapping him in as tight a hug as she could muster.

"You're wonderful, you know that? You didn't have to learn for me."

"I wanted to," Cullen mumbled against her shoulder, pulling her tight, trying to distract himself from his own nightmare.

"I'm surprised you didn't ask Dorian to teach you Tevene. It's not often that I use Elvish around people here."

"That's honestly why I wanted to learn," Cullen replied, pressing his lips to Elenora's temple. "I thought it would feel more intimate between us. You and Dorian share Tevene already."

"You are impossibly sweet Cullen. But we shouldn't change the subject: Are you alright?"

"I…saw Samson. I saw you. You were tranquil. Maker I—"

"It's okay, Cullen, I'm here. I'm okay."

They held each other a while longer, time standing still as the gravity of the situation sunk in.

"We're going to get him, Cullen. We've made our plans, we march against his stronghold on your orders."

"We move against him tomorrow. Let's get the bastard."

/

Elenora tried not to let the memory of the nightmare distract her as she moved through spell after spell under Solas's guidance. In a way she was thankful for his more forceful methods, never allowing her a break and pushing her to focus. He was nothing like Vivienne and Dorian, who, if she allowed herself to admit it, coddled her somewhat and allowed themselves to be distracted by gossip. Still, she missed the friendly company of the two mages as Solas stared her down, looking rather tense as she worked to stabilize the rift she'd just opened.

"Excellent, Inquisitor. You can close it now, I believe we've practiced enough for one afternoon. You'll need your energy for the journey to Samson's lair tomorrow."

With a lazy gesture of the Anchor, Elenora closed the rift, collapsing on the ground and massaging the opposite arm in which she held her staff.

"Is your staff arm always so stiff after casting? Mine's going numb," she whined, wincing at the feeling of pins and needles as she kneaded her bicep.

"It used to feel that way, but that comes with conditioning. Wielding a staff is nothing like swinging daggers, but I'm sure that left you sore when you first began swordfighting."

Solas joined her on the ground, reaching out to massage her arm for her. She allowed it, relaxing as Solas's fingers worked nimbly, clearly more familiar with what he was doing.

"I can't imagine what it must have been like, lowering yourself to fighting as a rogue when you held magic all along."

"I wasn't lowering myself at all," Elenora snapped. "I love being a rogue and a huntress. I was skilled enough at a young age that the keeper wanted me marked for Andruil, but I wouldn't allow it. With a bow I feed my clan and aid my people. With daggers I protect the Inquisition and its men. It's just as noble a calling as being an apostate."

"Forgive me Inquisitor, I didn't mean to sound so terse. I won't argue that your abilities have been more than useful, I only mean that it had to be stifling. Didn't you want to learn how to control your magic beyond hiding it?"

Elenora considered for a moment. In her youth she tried to cast, to at least learn how to perform magic even if she had to hide it. She wandered the fade at night when dreams came, hiding from demons who would try to lead her astray. They came more often when her father betrayed her, offering her a way out, a life of travel and splendor instead of being cooped up in the keep, hiding in the hills. But she was loyal to her people. She could not leave, and she would not allow her desire to practice endanger the other Dalish.

"I've wanted a lot of things in my life. But the world doesn't revolve around me, and I've always believed in the greater good."

Cullen walked by, pausing at the way Solas had his hands on Elenora, but he turned away, continuing on to the stables to speak to Dennet and Michel de Chevin.

"One day I think I'll let myself be selfish," Elenora finished, smirking at Cullen's back.

"What does being selfish entail, exactly?" Solas asked, continuing up her arm and rubbing her shoulders.

"I want to keep travelling, keep helping people, but do it on my terms, at my pace. This time without some Tevinter loon breathing down my neck and threatening to end the world.

"I hope to do the same at some point."

"Really? I sort of hoped you'd speak to the other Dalish clans. Tell them the truth of the gods and the vallaslin."

"To what end? I told you and you turned around and had the markings replaced," Solas snapped, digging into her shoulders harder than he meant to.

"If you would have asked me I'd have told you why. You can give people knowledge, but it's up to them to decide what to do with it. The vallaslin may have meant something horrible before— something the clans should know— but that isn't what they mean now. They bring us together, mark us as Dalish, show the world that we're proud to be Knife Ears, for better or for worse. That isn't something I could throw away so easily."

"I see... I'm not so certain the clans would listen to an outsider like me, though. The Dalish don't easily trust barefaced elvhen..."

"I would go with you," Elenora replied, turning her head to look Solas in the eye. "I know we haven't been on the best terms lately, but it wasn't always like this. I value your wisdom, Solas. I'd gladly stand beside you to make the clans hear the truth. As the Inquisitor...and as a friend."

For a moment Elenora saw the Solas she'd fallen in love with, his eyes softening at her words. He seemed to consider the offer but was distracted by Cullen passing by again, this time shooting a nasty glare at him. The elf withdrew his hands, hastily standing.

"So proud to be Dalish and bare slave markings, yet you let some filthy _shem_ put his hands all over you," he hissed. "Perhaps your father was right. A whore to humans and nothing more."

The slap rang out against the stone of the keep. Solas reared back, meeting Elenora's icy glare.

"Some of us aren't so pathetic that we'd wander the wilds, sleeping our lives away and lusting after a time long gone. Arlathan is dead, Solas. The Dalish accept that. Hell, city elves accept that. Sera sees with eyes more open than yours. Get that through your thick fucking skull."

She stormed off before he could respond, heading to the undercroft to prepare her armor for the coming battle.

/

"Lovely. It would seem Samson and his men are holing up in a Tevinter temple. A shame Dorian isn't joining us, he'd have liked to see it."

Vivienne accepted the offer to join Elenora and Cullen's party without hesitance. Beside her, Cassandra and Varric walked at a brisk pace, eager to put a stop to the Red Templar's reign of terror. Elenora brought up the back with Cullen, weary from the week of travelling across Orlais to reach the ruin in the far north, but equally as impatient to dispense with Corypheus's general.

"I offered for him to come, actually, but he's been elusive lately. I thought maybe Fairbanks had something to do with it, but he's been locked away in his room for the most part. Something about dealings with the Imperium and his parents."

"Well that certainly sounds ominous. I do hope everything is alright. Speaking of mages and all things ominous, how has training with Solas been going, darling? I've missed your company in the late afternoons."

Cullen had been ignoring everyone up to that point, clearly focused on the task ahead. At the mention of Solas's name, however, he perked up, shooting Elenora a questioning look.

"I'd... honestly rather not talk about it. Suffice it to say that my magic has been improving. Hence the staff," she replied, gesturing at the weapon strapped to her back. "I still prefer double daggers, though. Been meaning to ask Fairbanks to teach me that Whirling Dagger method. It was surprisingly effective against Cullen."

This seemed to lighten the commander's sour mood some, earning the Inquisitor a smirk.

"Not effective enough, though."

"You sure did give that kid a thrashing, Curly. I thought he had you for a moment, but it seems a certain... inspiration struck at the last moment," Varric chuckled.

"Ugh. Just wait, I'm sure we'll all see bastardizations of ourselves in your next serial. What will it be I wonder? 'Steely in Skyhold'?" Cassandra snorted.

"'Daggers and Dalliances', surely," Vivienne laughed.

"'Peril and Paramour'?" Cullen offered.

"Would you all PLEASE stop giving the dwarf ideas?!" Elenora groaned, pointedly ignoring Varric's widening grin.

"Actually, I was thinking 'The Vallaslin and The Valiant': a tale of two lovers from separate worlds, caught in a nasty love triangle and the nastier web of a Magister's plot to conquer the world."

"I hope Samson lops my head off. This is how I die."

"Don't joke like that."

The words came out harsh, but Cullen's eyes were full of worry.

"I'll be fine, vhenan. We're going to bring this fucker to justice. You'll be right at my side the whole time."

"_Andraste, Las ar enasalin_; grant me victory," Cullen sighed.

"She'll hear you, vhenan. She will," Elenora replied, resting a hand on Cullen's shoulder.

Vivienne sighed at their exchange.

"Such romance, I'm almost envious. Make sure you do them justice, Master Tethras."

"Taking mental notes as we speak."

Elenora hardly had time to roll her eyes before the temple came into view, Red Templar banners hanging from the towers. More noticeable, however, was the distinct smell of ash and smoke flooding the air.

"They knew. Come on, we need to catch up to Samson before it's too late!"

The party charged in after Cullen, hacking, firing, and blasting their way through wave after wave of Red Templars. Elenora guiltily enjoyed the feeling of fighting side by side with her lover, his ferociousness in battle making it clear how he'd earned the title of 'lion'. The fury in his eyes, however, was off putting. She'd heard tales of how vicious the commander was in his days at Kirkwall's Circle, but to see even an inkling of the man he used to be sent a chill down her spine. She was immediately grateful that it wasn't Venatori they were fighting.

Finally, they breached the temple, fighting through smoke and brimstone only to be met with an empty inner sanctum, a Tranquil lying on the floor the only life within.

"Maddox?"

"You're too late, Knight-Captain," Maddox breathed in the eerie, lilting tone all Tranquils spoke in. "We burned everything here so nothing would be left for the Inquisition to find. We few stayed behind so that Samson would have time to flee. I've drank my entire supply of blightcap potions. It won't be long now."

"You threw your life away for Samson? Why?" Cullen asked, kneeling beside the mage.

"Samson saved me long before I was useful. I...wanted to help."

Maddox slumped over, eyes casting over and body growing still. Cullen turned away, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration as Elenora knelt down beside Maddox, gently closing his eyes.

"_Falon'Din enasal enaste_. Go to the Maker, Maddox," she whispered, finishing the Elvish prayer for the dead in the common tongue.

"There may be something Maddox left behind," Cassandra said, already beginning to search the rubble. "It may point us to Samson's whereabouts."

"Maddox wouldn't have been that sloppy," Cullen sighed. "But, there may be something here that can help us figure out how to weaken Samson's armor. A mage's tools aren't so easily destroyed."

The five of them searched what was left of the temple, eventually finding the odd, glowing tools Maddox had used to service Samson's armor. Cullen called for two of his soldiers to collect Maddox's body, promising a proper burial for the Tranquil, and the Inquisition's forces departed, one step closer to victory against Corypheus, but feeling rather disheartened.

/

"I'll need a little time and some resources, but I can definitely reverse engineer Samson's armor. Give me a week and a little help from your ambassador and I'm on it!"

"Thank you Dagna. I'm sure you won't disappoint."

As the dwarf scurried out of Cullen's office, the Inquisitor turned back to the warrior. Cullen had been positively brooding the entire journey back to Skyhold.

"Samson has no lyrium, no one to maintain his armor, and soon we'll have a way to break that armor. There are few places left for him to run. I know it may not feel like it, but this was a true victory, Cullen."

"Was it?"

There again was the look of fury that unsettled Elenora on the battle field. He placed is hands down on his desk, staring down at the pages littering the wood as if it held answers for him. Suddenly he swept the pages on to the floor, turning away from the Inquisitor, shaking in anger.

"Maddox died because Samson showed him some small bit of kindness in the Circle. What good have the Templars done if those we swore to protect would risk everything for such a damnable cause? Samson's evaded us again, we have no way of knowing if he had a failsafe, a back-up plan if we got too close. I swore myself to the order and for what? To watch the mages revolt against the chantry? To become such a monster that men like Samson appear to be the more favorable party? Why did I even stop taking the lyrium? What does it matter? The damage is done—"

"_Cullen_. Don't."

Elenora crossed the room in an instant, grabbing Cullen's shoulders when he made to turn away again.

"All isn't lost, yet. We can still win this fight. Maddox's death is a pity, but don't let it be in vain. You can still prove that the men amongst the Templars are as noble and righteous as they claim to be. If you need to have it out, if you need to hit something, hell if you need to hit me, do it. But don't go down that path again. You're better than this. You mean too much to me to fall back under lyrium's spell. Please..."

"Do I? Mean that much to you, I mean. After all you had no issue letting that damned elf put his hands all over you," Cullen spat.

Elenora remained steadfast, unflinching.

"Well you missed the part where I decked him in the face after. Cullen you don't have to worry about us. That's one thing that isn't in any danger changing."

Cullen's expression became pained as he pulled away.

"You should go. I don't want to hurt you."

"I think the whole of Skyhold knows by now I can take a beating. Whatever you need Cullen, to spar, to shout: I'm here."

For a moment Cullen stood stock still, silent. The look on his face only seemed to grow darker by the second, then, suddenly, he was on her. He hoisted Elenora onto the cleared desk, tossing the short jacket she wore aside and grabbing the bustier of her leather armor top, shredding the material off of her in a shocking show of force. The rest of her clothes were torn away in a similar fashion, Cullen's hands turning red as he twisted and pulled the tough fabric apart. Elenora tried to hide her shock at being manhandled, but was admittedly disturbed by his actions. He was less the sweet, loyal man she'd known and more the stereotype of a mage-hating Templar. She wondered if he'd ever done this before- if he ever, in a moment of anger or frustration, took advantage of the mages under his care at Kirkwall. He'd admitted to a number of atrocities: making mages Tranquil who didn't deserve it, cutting weak mages down during the Harrowing without a thought— but this was something darker still. She tried to bring her mind back to the events at hand as Cullen tossed aside his own armor and climbed over her.

"Tell me to stop," He gasped, grabbing at bare skin and sinking his teeth into her throat. "Tell me you don't want this."

"If I asked you to stop, would you?"

Cullen ceased all movement immediately, snapping back to reality and looking Elenora in the eye.

"I would never hurt you. I would never impose myself in this way on someone who was not willing."

"Have you ever? In the past, with another mage?"

"Never."

"Then I'm yours. Whatever you need."

Cullen wasn't slow or gentle in his rutting, pounding hard and fast into the Inquisitor, digging his nails into her sides, seeking release. Elenore bore the discomfort, fears that Cullen was once more of a monster than he let on assuaged. Finally he finished with a gasp, collapsing on top of her, panting.

"Are...are you alright?"

"No more sore than I was after taking down a dragon. Told you, I can take a beating."

Elenora tipped Cullen's head up to show him she was smiling, relief washing over his face in response.

"I'm... I'm sorry. Between the lyrium withdrawal and everything happening with the Inquisition...I did say I was unhinged."

"You wouldn't be the only one struggling, vhenan. I've cried more tears than anyone could count over the past months. This is wearing on everyone. If I could do anything to relieve your stress, I'm happy to."

"The sentiment is mutual. And so—"

Cullen climbed off the desk, tugging Elenora toward him so her hips lay flush with the edge of the desk.

"—let me return the favor."

"Cullen, what are you— OH! Wait I— _agh_!"

Cullen's mouth was upon her, lapping up his own seed and her wetness, making long, languid strokes with his tongue up her core. She writhed under his movements, suddenly bathed in the pleasure she'd missed while he fucked her roughly. She dug her hands into his hair, gasping as he continued to flick his tongue over her most sensitive spot. Before long her vision was blurred, stars dancing across her eyes as she came with a shout. When Cullen stood upright everything from his nose to his chin was slick, a grin splayed across his face.

"Cullen you absolute _dog."_

"Dog? I was under the impression I was a lion?"

Elenora snorted, clambering off the desk and playfully shoving him before letting him wrap her in his arms.

"Everything you said to me goes for you, too, Elle. Whatever you need. Whatever I can do to ease your worries: I'm here."

"_Ar lath ma, vhenan."_

"I love you, too."

They took their time gathering their discarded clothes and armor, Elenora tutting at the sorry state her things were in. The climbed the ladder to Cullen's bedroom and tucked themselves in, drifting off to sleep in each other's arms.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: I am SO sorry this is so late! Thank you all for being so patient.**

The garden was silent this early in the morning, save for the chirping of birds and the quiet babbling of the tiny fountain therein. Even the chantry mothers had not yet risen that morning as Elenora made her way through the grounds, heart heavy in her throat.

It was time. Scout Harding had woken her out of her sleep, informing her that Corypheus's army was spotted marching to the Temple of Mythal. The advisors and Morrigan were quickly roused— they had been prepared for a week now to march at a moment's notice, but it was jarring all the same to realize that this was the moment. Scout Harding confirmed that Samson was among the men, leading what was left of his army after fleeing the Temple of Dumat. Elenora saw Cullen's fist clench at the news.

And so, with the realization that she would be leading nearly all of the Inquisition's forces alongside that of Celine's army into battle, Elenora ventured forth to the garden's Chantry. She jumped slightly after opening the chapel door, realizing the small room was already occupied. There before the Statue of Andraste was Cullen, kneeling and deep in worship. He cracked an eye open and looked back over his shoulder to see who entered, never ceasing in his prayer or dropping his clasped hands. As Elenora approached he finished the canticle, whispering "Maker be with me."

"Forgive me, I didn't mean to intrude," Elenora whispered sheepishly as Cullen rose from the floor.

"Not at all. Have...have you come to pray?"

Elenora bit her lip, worrying the skin beneath her teeth as she turned red.

"It's silly. I pray to entirely different gods and yet...for some reason I felt drawn here."

Cullen placed a hand on the small of her back, gently guiding her before the statue of Andraste.

"Then there must be a reason. You have to try."

"But I don't know the first thing about the Maker or Andraste, save blaspheming every other breath alongside Varric. I don't know any verses or prayers or—"

Cullen's hand on her shoulder silenced her.

"It doesn't have to be from verse, or even formal really. Just...speak to her. She'll listen."

Elenora swallowed thickly, not wanting to even look into the statues cold eyes, but forcing herself to do so anyway.

"Lady Andraste... I serve as the leader for the Divine Inquisition under your name. The people here... they call me your Herald. In our victories we have praised you, exalted you, thanked you for your good favor, and yet, in all the victories I have brought you, I have never once asked for anything in return."

Elenora swallowed hard again, feeling bolder.

"I'd like to ask for something in return now: watch over them. Where my eyes cannot see, where my arms cannot reach, where my magic cannot protect, I ask that you watch and reach and protect for me. And, if you'll permit me to ask one more thing of you... bring him back to me. I know that he has been wicked, that he's sinned, that he's erred and strayed from the Maker's path, but he has repented and prayed and brought light to my people and the people of Thedas. I ask that you don't call him to stand at your side too soon, that you bring him back to me once the battle is won, that we might once again exalt in your name when we have our victory."

Elenora stepped away from the statue, positively red about the face, but Cullen only smiled.

"Andraste be with you, Inquisitor," he whispered, pulling her close. "And I will come back to you, just as you've come back to me every time."

Elenora nodded against his shoulder, letting out a shuddering breath.

"Let's end this."

/

Elenora decided that after they took down Corypheus's forces she never wanted to be a part of a military march ever again. The path was easier and quicker than that of the path to Adamant and Dumat's Temple, but still she tired of the journey, lamenting at the Elven ruins they passed in the thick foliage of the Arbor Wilds. Several times her companions tried to lighten the mood, Sera pointing out that the Inquisitor was walking with a slight limp, mentioning the rumors flying amongst the soldiers that someone had tried to fuck the Lady Herald through a desk just days before. Elenora didn't even hear her, eyes focused on the road ahead. In the end it was Solas who broke her from her reverie, muttering that the ruins they passed were an outright shame.

"Isn't it?" Elenora replied darkly. "How many lives were lost here due to greed and wrath? How many of the people lost their lives here? Their memories lost to the ages?"

"Too many," Solas sighed. "I only hope we can prevent more needless loss here today."

"I have to thank you for joining my main party here as we enter the Temple. I'm hoping your expertise on Mythal may be useful."

"I must confess I'm surprised you require my expertise at all, considering—" Solas finished the thought by waving his hand vaguely in front of his face, clearly alluding to Elenora's vallaslin. Elenora was greatful that Solas's tone was genuine, lacking the usual sarcasm and vitriol he usually addressed her with.

"I know a great deal about Mythal, but only that which the Dalish claim to remember. You've spoken with spirits in the fade that whisper the truth of the gods— that knowledge is invaluable here."

"I appreciate your confidence in me, Lady Inquisitor."

Elenora simply nodded in return. The plan was thus: Elenora, Solas, Cole, Cassandra, and Morrigan would enter the temple, Cullen and his best men clearing the way for her. The rest of the inner circle would bring up the back, making sure the Inquisitor and her party were not taken by surprise. The other soldiers and mages not fighting beside the commander would take on Samson's army alongside Celine's forces. It was a solid plan, but still Elenora worried they were at a disadvantage: the Temple was as ancient as Corypheus himself. There may be knowledge he possesed which would give him the upper hand.

There wasn't much time to fret over this once they reached the temple, Elenora and Cullen surging forward, cutting down the Templars and Venatori that blocked their path. It was far too easy, far too few of the opposition meeting them at the doors, clearly only there to slow their progress.

"Go on ahead!" Cullen roared at the Inquisitor, swinging his blade at one of the abominations. "We'll keep them off of you! You need to get to that mirror before Corypheus!"

Elenora sent up one more silent prayer to whatever god that would listen that Cullen would come home safely. Then she rushed into the keep, the rest of her party close behind.

/

None of the temple made sense. On every wall and surface there lay some great contradiction to everything the Dalish knew about Mythal and Fen'Harel. The stories she'd been passed along since early childhood were clear: Fen'Harel betrayed Mythal. Murdered by the trickster god. It was what made him so fearful, what made him so abhorrent, and yet the engravings on the wall told a different story: one of betrayal at the hands of those who destroyed her temple. It didn't make any sense, and as Solas and Morrigan bickered over the lore of the past, Elenora felt a headache brewing.

Worse, smug as Morrigan was, she was wrong. It was not the evanuris that Corypheus was after, but the vir'abelasan: the Well of Sorrows. Within it lie all that was left of the memories of the elves of Arlathan, as well as, perhaps, an answer for how Corypheus may walk the fade without the anchor. They were desperate to reach it first, Samson and his men pushing ahead where Elenora faultered. She could not, would not, sully the sanctity of this place any further, opting to let Corypheus's general push ahead while they toiled away at rite after rite.

Morrigan was furious, but the Inquisitor ignored her. With each passing second the witch was seeming more and more like the shemlen who sought to take down the elves and usurp their power. She wouldn't say it outright, but Elenora knew that once the way was clear, she'd attempt to take the Well's knowledge for herself.

Even still, between the Well and the ancient etchings, that wasn't the worst of the place. No, it was the sentinels— elves of the time of Arlathan frozen in time, sworn to protect the Temple and its secrets. Again, infuriating Morrigan, Elenora swore to their leader, Abelas, that they'd cut Samson down and leave the place untouched, leaving the Well intact. That seemed to be the last Morrigan needed to hear, transfiguring herself into a great black bird and soaring through the temple toward the well. Again, Elenora and her group fought through wave after wave of Red Templars, Abelas and his sentinels joining them, desperate to stop Morrigan. Finally they caught up to the witch, just before the staircase to the vir'abelasan, Templars flooding in behind them.

"We have to take it, Inquisitor!" Morrigan shouted. "Think of what that knowledge could do! We could stop Corypheus, pass the knowledge along to those worthy, it could save lives, right wrongs, settle age old feuds— would you really leave it here to be destroyed? All that knowledge lost forever? Didn't you say it was a shame to see it go?"

"You don't know what you're saying, shem!" Abelas shouted. "The Well is not yours to take. You would be binding yourself to Mythal's service for all eternity. Would you risk that over your petty squabbles?"

"You've been rotting away in a temple through the ages!" Morrigan hissed. "You've no idea what's become of Thedas! Of our people! We need this!"

Elenora knew Morrigan was right, but she also knew her arguments were a thinly veiled cover for her desire to take the Well's knowledge for herself. Regardless, with Corypheus threatening to end the very world...

"She's right," Elenora sighed, "we need this. I'm sorry, Abelas."

"You cannot take the vir'abelasan! I will not allow it!"

Elenora turned to chase Morrigan to the Well, but Abelas grabbed her arm. Pain flashed through her like lightning, tearing a scream from her throat as the world swam around her. Something was wrong, horribly wrong. It felt as though the ancient elf was rearranging her entire being, and then, in an instant, it was over. Elenora gasped for air, turning to see Solas standing over an unconscious Abelas, his staff cocked in such a way that told her he'd knocked the elf out cold. She didn't have time to ask questions or ponder over the awful, dizzing nausea that was surging through her, instead turning to sprint up the stairs, joining Morrigan at the edge of the Well. Morrigan hesitated, moments away from stepping into the Well, passing Elenora a look of guilt.

"Take it," Elenora seethed. "Just fucking take it. You want the knowledge? Then take it. I am done being a pawn in the gods' games."

Morrigan had to hide her triumphant smirk as she slid into the vestibule, magic swirling and whispering around her as the Well imbued her with its power.

There was an angry roar behind them, Samson finally catching them up, clearly realizing he was too late.

"It was to be mine!" He raged. "Corypheus entrusted me with this! It's seems I'll just have to bring him the Anchor as consolation."

"Try it, if you dare."

"Insolent little Knife Ear!"

Elenora joined the fray, Dagna's rune glowing brightly as she sliced her way through the Templars. She could see Cullen and more of her inner circle pushing forward into the room, trying to keep them from being overrun. Her head was still spinning, causing her to make sloppy moves, then she did the one thing a rogue should never do:

Let herself get flanked.

There seemed to be no way out. Corrupted Templars surrounded her, blocking her from view. She tried to tear open a rift, to bring down the sky and free herself from the circle of soldiers closing in on her, but, to her horror, she could not. As she tried to cast every inch of her body screamed in protest. It was as if her magic had turned on itself, scorching her from the inside. As the enemy forces drew in to finish her she sent up one more silent prayer that Cullen would be okay.

Then everything went red.

At first she believed it to be the aura of the Templars surrounding her, but as her eyes refocused she realized it was tendrils of magic, wrapping themselves around the beasts and crushing them, saving her from certain death. As the last of them fell she locked eyes with Dorian. Dorian, gripping his staff too tightly. Dorian holding a blade in his opposite hand.

Dorian, with blood seeping from the slit across his throat.

"NO!"

The battle was all but forgotten as Elenora ran to catch the mage before he could fall.

"Dorian! Dorian what did you do?!"

"Had to...think fast. Couldn't get there... Thought...blood magic..."

"Dorian," Elenora whispered in a choked sob, "Dorian you despise blood magic! You knew what would happen! Why?!"

"Anything. Anything...keep you safe..."

Elenora screamed for help. Solas and Vivienne were there in an instant, hands glowing with healing magic, the blood still oozing from Dorian's slit throat sinking back in as they closed the wound.

"It's looks worse than it is, Inquisitor," Solas bit out, face furrowed in concentration. "He's lost a lot of blood, but the wound is shallow. We need to get him to a healer."

"I'm...never sloppy," Dorian grunted, trying to smirk before his eyes slid shut.

"I'll take him," Vivienne said, voice shaking. She pulled Dorian up, using magic to make him lighter as she dragged him out of the battle.

Elenora's resolve returned. Now she was in a blind rage, hacking and slicing at anyone standing in her way, desperately fighting to get to Samson. In the end there was no need: Cullen already had the general on his knees, a circle of true Templars pointing daggers at his throat, preventing him from leaving.

"You haven't won yet," Samson hissed. "Corypheus will remake the world. Soon you all will bow bef—"

He was silenced by Cullen's boot crushing his nose, effectively knocking him out.

"Take this bastard back to Skyhold. I want double the usual guards posted outside his cell. No one takes their eyes off of him."

"Yes, Ser!"

The soldiers dragged Samson's limp body away, leaving Cullen panting, teeth bared in anger. Upon seeing Elenora he softened almost immediately, unable to stop himself from pulling her into a crushing hug.

"I couldn't get to you in time. I...I thought I'd lost you."

"Andraste was with us. And Mythal, I wouldn't doubt," Elenora sighed, falling heavily into his embrace.

"Dorian. Is he?"

"Vivienne and Solas did what they could. The healers will have to take it from here."

"I'm certain they'll be able to fix him up. Don't fret, my love."

"You know I'm going to anyway."

Cullen let out a morose chuckle.

"I know. Wouldn't be you if you didn't."

"Let's just go home."

Cullen and Elenora marched side by side the entire way back to Skyhold. The peals of laughter and celebration by the campfires at night were lost to her. Until Dorian was okay again, the world would never feel right.

/

"My Lady Inquisitor. Samson awaits your judgement. We'll bring him before you at your word."

"Drag him into the throne room, I'll deal with him in a moment. You may want to get the commander."

"Ser!"

Elenora didn't even stop walking to speak to the scout, instead continuing her pseudo-jog to the room they'd been using as a sick-ward. To her great relief, Dorian was there, sitting upright and arguing with a nurse in a hoarse voice.

"The least you could do is bring me some wine if you're going to force me to stay here. You people fuss more than my nannies back in Tevinter. I half expect you to rap me over the knuckles for my poor posture any moment now."

Dorian waived the nurse off as Elenora approached, grin growing wide.

"Feeling better are we?"

"Much. I feel ready enough to return to my little library nook and yet here I am, withering away, mind crumbling to pieces. If I stay here any longer I'll be sure to think Varric's trite nonsense as eloquent as Genitivi. Then were will we be?"

Elenora threw herself around the mage, trying her best to keep the hug gentle, but needing to hold him close.

"Dorian I was so worried. I thought—"

"Hush, amatus, I'm no worse for wear. For someone who likes to take me out dragon hunting you're certainly making a fuss."

"This is different, Dori! You nearly died! And to resort to blood magic—"

"Elenora."

It was rare that Dorian used her actual name. Usually it was Inquisitor or amatus. To hear him speak her name made Elenora pull back, looking the mage in the eye.

"I swore myself to the Inquisition. More than that, I swore myself to you. If you were to fall in battle when I could have done something to prevent it... I'd never have forgiven myself. Never. My father risked warping my mind once to blood magic, but the harm that would have done would be nothing compared to the wreck I'd have been if we lost you. I despise blood magic, but if it meant keeping you here, alive, I'd do it again. Never feel guilty for that, amatus."

"I love you, Dorian. Never scare me like that again."

"And I love you amatus. I'd ask you to do the same. Now go on before I'm forced to say some other syrupy thing, or worse, before I shed a tear."

Elenora parted with Dorian after one last hug, allowing the nurses to return to their work. With that she headed to the main hall, taking he seat before a kneeling Samson and a scowling Cullen. Elenora took on a grim look of her own.

"Samson. I've heard much about you. Feigning care for the mage rebellion only to get your pathetic lyrium fix, only to join Corypheus's forces in the end. Is there nothing you won't do to serve your own selfish whims?"

Samson laughed at the Inquisitor, a smug grin creeping across his pallid face.

"Corypheus will right the world, elf. Soon you'll be the one kneeling."

Elenora had to stop herself from wincing as Cullen bashed the man in the back of the head, pure hatred flashing in his eyes.

"You'll address the Lady Herald as Inquisitor, swine," he hissed. A shiver crept down Elenora's spine as Cullen defended her. He was terrifying when he was like this, but the primal part of her mind was excited by it. She was Cullen's, and anyone who dared disrespect her would have him to answer to.

Slowly, Elenora climbed off of her perch, walking toward Samson with an air of danger.

"Oh the things they'll say," she hissed, voice dripping with honeyed venom. "They'll call me wicked. Corrupt. But at the moment I can't bring myself to care."

She grabbed Samson by the chin, dragging his head up to look at her, smug look still plastered on his face.

"I had half a mind to just kill you and be done with it. But no. I think I have a better idea. You're going to tell us everything you know about Corypheus and his plans. Once we've wrung all that we can from you I think I'll give you to Cullen. He can decide how best to use you for our cause. But before then—"

Elenora tossed him away, turning back to her throne and the guards posted beside it.

"Torture him. I want that smirk off of his face. Permanently. Break him and keep breaking him until he's as much a husk as poor Maddox who died to defend him. You have your orders. Get him out of my sight."

"Ser!"

Elenora didn't turn to look as Samson was dragged away, fuming as the memory of Dorian, pale and bleeding out, replayed in her mind over and over. She didn't realize she was shaking until a hand fell on her shoulder.

"Elle. Are you alright?"

She turned to face Cullen, placing a hand on his cheek and smoothing her thumb over the scar that clefted his lip.

"I feel better knowing that thing is in chains. We're one step closer to defeating Corypheus."

Cullen's lips crashing against hers took her by surprise. Everyone knew they were an item, Cullen having debauched her in front of a crowd some weeks ago, but public displays of affection between the two of them were still rare.

"Forgive me. After everything that happened I find I can't help stealing moments where I can."

"You'll hear no complaints from me," Elenora sighed, eyes fluttering under his touch. "We have a final battle to prepare for. Moments like that will likely be scarce in the future. Once Dorian is well and my world is righted we'll be thrown into planning again."

Cullen hummed in agreement, still not yet letting the Inquisitor go.

"You're okay. Dorian is going to be okay... That has to be enough for me," Elenora whispered.

"If you're worried about being apart I wouldn't argue over you sharing my chambers on a more permanent basis."

"Mm. Perhaps mine? We can leave the balcony open at night. I know you won't admit it, but you keep that blasted hole in the roof so you don't feel suffocated. Surely my room can provide the same but better?"

"I...will consider it Inquisitor. Thank you."

Cullen placed a final kiss on her forehead, reluctantly pulling away.

"Forgive me but I have a mountain of reports waiting for me at my desk. You'll join me later tonight at least?"

"Of course."

Cullen took his leave, leaving Elenora to take a steadying breath. They had survived this much thus far. The end was nearing.

/

"Try once more, Inquisitor."

The Fade swirled in her core, rising to her arms, creeping along her veins before burning white hot, leaping through her like lightning over water-slicked earth. Elenora ground her teeth together, a scream gurgling through them.

"Stop," Solas sighed. "It is as I feared."

Solas, Cassandra, and Morrigan had gathered in the garden later that night, attempting to riddle out what Abelas had done to Elenora.

"Solas, what is this? What's happening to me?"

"I thought at first that the anchor may be affecting you, but no. This is ancient magic, something I heard mentioned in my walks through the fade. It is called bellanaris'abelasan, an eternity of sorrow. It's the closest thing the elves had to rendering someone Tranquil."

Elenora's blood ran cold.

"I'm...I have no magic?"

"Not quite. Abelas couldn't finish the spell. It's more likely your magic is just disrupted. Even if he had completed it, bellanaris'abelasan can be reversed... it would just take time to figure out how."

"Solas," Cassandra said, making everyone jump. "We need a way to fix this. Now."

"I had an idea. If the Inquisitor was temporarily cut off from the Fade for a few moments, we may be able to settle her magic back into place. Steady the stream."

Morrigan looked distant suddenly, eyes glazing over as she listened to the voices in her head.

"The voices tell me this may work. It may be enough."

"This is why you asked Cassandra to be here, isn't it?" Elenora sighed.

"Yes. I believe if the Lady Seeker were to Silence you, that should right you."

"Alright... I'm ready."

"Forgive me Inquisitor, I hope this works."

Cassandra raised a hand and at once all of Elenora's muscles seemed to constrict, her body feeling icy and empty without magic for a moment before it slowly flooded back in. She took a breath, steadying herself again, and tried to cast. This time she could feel it creeping across her fingertips, close to surfacing. Sparks flew from them erratically before the pain from before returned, duller, but still there.

"Damn!" She hissed, grabbing her throbbing casting hand.

"That was better, closer. We need something stronger than a Silence."

Again, Elenora was frozen in place. She was back in the Fade, standing before the fear demon's illusion of her childhood trauma before the world around her rocked, vision shredded to pieces as Cassandra—

"A Smite," Elenora whispered.

"It would seem so," Cassandra sighed. "This is not something I ever envisioned myself doing.

"No! I mean... not right now. I'm still recovering from my injuries from our last battle. We can try this another day. I'm still good with a blade, restoring my magic can wait for another day."

"Are you certain, Inquisitor?" Morrigan asked, frowning. "Does it not pain you?"

"It only hurts if I try to cast. Other than that I just feel slightly...off. It won't hinder me from my duties. Thank you all for trying, I'll let you know when I'm ready to... to fix this."

Solas, Cassandra, and Morrigan bid the Inquisitor good night, all deciding to turn in. Elenora ignored the stinging in her eyes and the fear causing her to tremble. She tried to ignore the thought of what was to come, instead deciding to sneak Dorian that wine he asked for, and considering that perhaps Cullen should try to fuck her through his desk.


	14. Chapter 14

Elenora gritted her teeth against the pain as she tried in vain to cast even the simplest of spells. The tiny mage light she'd managed to conjure burst into sparks, sputtering out almost immediately after appearing. She swore, chucking her staff onto the ground, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes. There was nothing for it. She would have to undergo the Smite if she had even a chance of getting her magic back.

"Inquisitor?"

It was Solas, approaching slowly, as if worried she'd hit him if he got too close.

"Solas. What can I do for you?"

"I... confess I came to see how you were faring. It hasn't been long since you began to use your abilities. I imagine losing them in that way...it must be difficult."

Elenora sighed, slumping into one of the chairs beside the table where Dorian and Cullen often played chess.

"Indulge me, would you?" Elenora asked, gesturing at the chess board.

Solas took his seat across from her, beginning to set the board.

"The worst part is I know I could just ask Cassandra to perform the Smite and be done with it."

"Why don't you?"

"Because I've seen her perform one before, in the Fade. I've seen what it can do. Is it foolish to be scared? The Silence was bad enough, but a Smite? It's so violent and invasive and personal...I just can't imagine subjecting myself to that willingly," she confessed, moving a pawn forward.

"If you're concerned about the personal nature of being disconnected from all magic, why not have the commander perform the Smite?" Solas returned, moving a piece of his own forward.

"I don't know that I could ask him to do that. Even if it's something I needed, he doesn't want to hurt me. It's too much to ask."

"I'm sure there's seldom the commander wouldn't do for you, if the way he stares daggers at me at every turn is anything to go off of."

"Please tell me we are not about get into another one of these petty arguments," Elenora groaned, rubbing at her temples.

"No. I don't wish to get into any sort of argument with you, not anymore. I must confess, I was an ass before. At training, at Halamshiral, even in the way I broke things off with you. I regret how things have ended up between us, and I am sorry."

Elenora paused in reaching to place her knight down, brows lifting.

"I...confess I didn't expect such an apology from you."

"You deserved one. My actions as of late have been entirely unacceptable where it pertains to our relationship."

Elenora sat back in her seat, watching Solas make his next move.

"All I wanted was an explanation, Solas. To know why. I would have still been upset, but it would have been easier if you were just honest with me. What is this ancient pain that you're running from? That made you run from me?"

Solas looked suddenly pale, refusing to meet the Inquisitor's eye. Finally he relented, squeezing his eyes shut and appearing to dig through his memories.

"I...haven't always been alone. I was more like you, once, part of a sort of clan of my own. We weren't Dalish, just a group of elves seeking the truth of the past of Arlathan, hoping to make life for the elves better. We stayed together, learning about the gods and who they truly were, what elvhen kind could be."

"What happened?"

"They died. Well, some died, others... others we lost behind the Veil like we did Stroud. I was the only one left, in the end. I tried, in vain, to protect my friends, to pull them out of the darkness... When I grew closer to you I feared the events of the past repeating. I didn't think I could bare losing you the way I did my companions. I knew if I told you the truth that you would try to soothe my fears, convince me to stay... I couldn't risk that, so I told you nothing and ran like a coward. I'm sorry, lethallin. You deserved better."

"Solas, I'm so sorry," Elenora breathed, reaching across the table to hold his hand. "I wish you would have told me."

"In the end it didn't matter when it came to the two of us. I must confess, had I known how young you were in the beginning I wouldn't have pursued you at all. As it is, I've created a rift between us that I wish to mend. Is it possible that we can start again?"

"I'd like nothing more. I have many friends here in Skyhold, I'd like to count you among them again."

Trumpets blared in the distance, sounding almost confused. It was between welcoming fanfare and a warning horn, leaving the Inquisitor and Solas looking rather puzzled.

"What in Thedas was that?"

"I don't know, but we'd better find out."

As they approached the gates they were greeted by the sight of massive black banners and an equally dark chariot boasting a crest Elenora didn't recognize. A woman climbed out, pale as the mountain snow with hair black as night, but for a single lock in the front that was grey. She appeared to be around 40, but the wrinkles that formed around her eyes and mouth as she smiled at the Inquisitor revealed she may be older. Her gown was as extravagant as it was scandalous, cut dangerously low in the front but modest in the sheer mesh that covered her bust and arms. There wasn't an ear or finger that wasn't dripping in jewels, revealing that she was clearly a woman of wealth. But her eyes— something about her eyes was oddly familiar.

"Lady Inquisitor! Salve, my darling, you look just as my boy said you would."

"Forgive me, madame, I don't believe we've ever met. To whom do I owe the pleasure?"

Elenora's question was answered as soon as Halward Pavus stepped out of the carriage.

"Mythal's tits, you're Dorian's mother?!"

"In the flesh, my dear," she replied, curtsying politely. "Lady Aquinea Pavus of Minrathous. I am so very pleased to finally meet the woman behind the Inquisition."

"Ah! Mother. Father. I see you've arrived early."

Dorian finally appeared, looking better than he had in the days after Mythal's Temple, but terribly nervous as much as he tried to hide it. He avoided his father's gaze, instead addressing his mother.

"I see you've met the Lady Inquisitor. And haven't scared her off already. Shall we move this party inside? People are staring."

"They are indeed," Aquinea replied, snapping a fan open and concealing much of her face. "Must we go in so quickly? I was hoping I might get a glimpse of this mysterious Fairbanks I've heard so much and yet so little about."

Halward's fists clenched at his sides at the mention of Dorian's lover. Dorian himself looked pale.

"Ah. I had hoped those rumors hadn't yet reached you. Regardless, to the Herald's Rest if you please?"

Solas bid farewell to the Inquisitor as the group made their way into the castle tavern. Everyone they passed stared in shock or horror, no one expecting to see more 'Vints within Skyhold's walls. They took their seats on the secluded third floor, several awkward moments passing in silence as Dorian hesitated, Halward glowered, and Aquinea simply beamed.

"Everyone at this table wants something," Dorian sighed, finally relenting. "I want the freedom to live as I chose, my Father wants his legacy, my mother wants our family to be whole, and you, my dear Inquisitor, want for a male figure in your life who won't betray you."

"I suppose. Perhaps if my mother ever marries again I may have it. Doubtful though," Elenora shrugged.

"At any rate, I believe I may have found a way that everyone gets what they want. Father, have you brought it?"

"Of course."

Halward passed over a long, ornate wooden box to Elenora. She looked at Dorian for a moment, puzzled, and slowly began opening the many clasps holding it shut.

"I've done some thinking," Dorian continued as Elenora worked at the box, "as to what you mean to me, amatus. For some time now 'friend' hasn't felt quite right. You're more the roguish little niece I've never had and never realized I wanted. I'd make that so, where that how things worked, but as it is..."

"I'm not sure what you mean by that, Dorian. What's going o—"

The box finally popped open. Within it lay an amulet baring the Pavus family birthright.

"Dorian...what is this? What's going on here?"

"My father will not rest until he has his legacy, amatus. And my mother won't rest until we've reconciled. I thought, perhaps, if I gave him the heir he always wanted, I could make things right and lay this to rest."

"The heir he— Dorian," Elenora gasped, realization finally dawning on her. "Are... are you adopting me?"

"All the paperwork is already drawn up my dear," Aquinea said, grinning even wider as she passed over a veritable book of documents to the Inquisitor. "All you have to do is sign and you'll be a Pavus. I could nearly jump for joy, I always hoped for a granddaughter."

Elenora was still in sheer disbelief, balking at Dorian.

"You'd legally be my father then?"

"I already discussed it with your mother, she's more than happy to have you legally recognized as a Pavus. Of course, I'd rather you didn't call me father. As I said, I feel more like your uncle. Or maybe an older cousin..."

"Dorian," Elenora began again, stopping the Altus before he could get distracted. "Can we even do this? I'm not even a—"

"A what, my darling?" Aquinea snapped. "You have the skin of a northerner and all the power of a formidable mage. That makes you Tevinter. But your wit, tenacity, and stubbornness in the face of adversity? That," She continued, leaning across the table and reaching for Elenora's hand. "That, my dear, makes you a Pavus."

Elenora was still unsure, looking back and forth between Dorian and his mother before her eyes settled on his father.

"If I do this," Elenora began slowly, "would it be enough for you to finally let Dorian live as he wishes? I cannot possibly be the legacy you wanted. Not to mention, I'm a woman. That means the Pavus line dies with me."

Halward sighed.

"I would be lying if I said this is what I envisioned when I had Dorian. It has been hell getting the Imperium to agree to recognize an elf as the heir to a Magister. But," he continued, ignoring the protest that was clearly about to come from Aquinea. "For better or for worse, the Imperium is eager to tie themselves to something as monumental as the Inquisition. Whether the Pavus name dies or not, that legacy is far greater than what any blood child of Dorian's could bring. It would be enough."

"And you're really okay with being my father on paper?" Elenora asked Dorian. He smiled softly in return.

"To have you as my family is an honor far greater than I could ever possibly deserve, amatus."

Elenora thought for a moment more, then, finally, signed the papers.

"It is done," Halward sighed.

Aquinea clapped her hands together giggling like a school girl. She rushed across the table, squeezing Elenora into a bone crushing hug.

"My dear girl!" She gasped. "My little granddaughter! Oh I could practically die this moment! Dorian! The birthright!"

"Of course."

Dorian fastened the amulet around Elenora's neck, now positively beaming himself.

"Elenora Lavellan of House Pavus. Bit of a mouthful, but it will do."

Elenora swept Dorian in a bonecrushing hug of her own, grinning like an idiot herself.

"Thank you, Dorian. I'll try to do right by the name."

Halward cleared his throat.

"If our business here is concluded, we should really be going. I cannot be away from the Imperium for too long."

"So soon?" Dorian replied. "Our ambassador planned a dinner, are you certain you can't stay?"

"It would be best if we—"

"HALWARD!"

Elenora and Dorian both jumped at Aquinea's shout.

"Have you any manners?! We're here as honored guests of the Inquisition! If there's a banquet to be held we must attend!"

Aquinea turned back to Elenora, a sickly sweet face replacing the enraged one she bore just a moment before.

"Forgive him my dear, I don't know who raised him. We would be honored to stay for dinner. We can depart after," she said, biting out the last word and giving Halward a look that said there was to be no arguing over the matter.

The dinner began tensely, no one in Skyhold sure what to make of the two visiting Tevinter mages. It wasn't long, however, before Aquinea broke the tension by snapping at her son and husband at every turn.

"Dorian, don't slouch over you food, darling, have you lost all your table manners in the short time you've been in the south?! And stop that pouting, Halward! The Inquisition has shown us such kindness, would it kill you to crack a smile?! Honestly, I don't know what to do with you two. And—Dorian, is this the friend I've heard so much about?"

Fairbanks had arrived late, taking his seat beside a blushing Dorian.

"You must be Lady Pavus," Fairbanks said, standing again to bow politely. "Sir Evariste Fairbanks Lemarque. I'm pleased to finally make your acquaintance."

"Now there's a boy with proper manners. And so easy on the eyes, too. He's a fine pick, Dorian, I expected no less of you."

"Must we discuss this here?" Halward groaned.

"Quiet, Halward! It wasn't so long ago that you were slipping out of Minrathous brothels after bedding a man."

Dorian's fork clattered onto his plate, shock written all over his face.

"Oh yes! Finally, we can have this discussion! Your father also enjoyed the company of men at one point. Just because he was too afraid to live as he wished doesn't mean you should suffer for it, Dodo. I'm glad you've found someone and we can finally lay this petty feud to rest."

The rest of the meal passed with everyone ignoring Halward's presence, instead focusing on the female Tevinter, listening to her tell embarrassing tales about her son and husband, as well as sharing a few stories about herself and life in Minrathous. At one point Varric had nearly convinced her to stay for a round of Wicked Grace, but Halward wouldn't allow it, stating that they had to return to Tevinter as soon as possible.

"Be well, my darling boy," Aquinea said before joining Halward in their coach. "Keep the Inquisitor safe. And write me! You never write me enough."

She turned to hug the Inquisitor as well whispering, "keep him safe will you? And make sure he minds his manners," before pulling away.

"And my dear Fairbanks," she continued, rounding on the blushing Orlesian. "Do visit us sometime, if you've a mind. I'd like to know more about the man my boy has fallen for."

"At your behest, my lady."

"Mm, such a charmer. Keep an eye on that one, Dodo, have to be careful about the pretty ones."

The three of them waved her off as the carriage sped away, out of the mountains. When the banners slipped from sight, Elenora turned to Dorian.

"I'm surprised at you, Dori. In all this time you led me to believe we had only surly fathers in common. I'd no idea our mothers were so alike, too."

"Yes, well, let us hope the two never pair up, shall we? Neither one of us would survive the teasing and nagging."

They both laughed, slowly making their way back to the keep.

"So I'm a Pavus now... strange. But also oddly fitting? Something about it feels right," Elenora admitted.

"You'll have access to a number of new allies, now. No doubt you'll be flooded with letters asking for favors from all over Minrathous."

"We'll have to celebrate our new found union properly, now. I'm thinking wine. A lot of wine."

"See?" Dorian replied, grinning. "You've been a Pavus all along."

"Cheers to that, Dad."

Dorian groaned, rolling his eyes as the Inquisitor howled with laughter. He broke into a sprint, declaring that the last one to the tavern was a filthy darkspawn. There was still much to face ahead, but Dorian had to admit this was the lightest he'd felt in years

**A/N: Two chapters remain in this fic. I do hope you've enjoyed it thus far!**


	15. Chapter 15

"I'm not sure how to break it to you, Dori, but I believe your mother may have actually wanted a daughter."

Two weeks had passed since Aquinea and Halward's visit to Skyhold. Elenora had elected to distract herself from her magic problem as well as Samson's presence in the keep by taking a short trip to the Hinterlands. Sera griped and moaned the entire time, complaining that the excursion to collect herbs for the healers was boring and uneventful, but that was rather the point: Dorian had only just recovered from his wounds at the Arbor Wilds and was growing restless from being cooped up in Skyhold. Elenora, therefore, wrestled together Vivienne and Sera to run errands, the red-haired elf hoping that the good company would cheer Dorian up. They met a few bandits on the roads, giving Dorian the chance to stretch his magical muscles, bringing up barriers and blasting renegade rogues with fireballs as if the events at the Temple of Mythal had never taken place. It gave Elenora the chance to fight with daggers alone, allowing her to pretend she'd never even learned magic to begin with.

Now that a day had passed since their return from the flatlands, Elenora had a chance to go through the numerous ornately wrapped packages from Tevinter. There was all manner of dresses, robes, jewelry, heraldry, and wine, topped off with a sprawling letter in impossibly fine calligraphy welcoming the elf into the family.

"Oh I know as much," Dorian finally responded, plucking a spun-gold collar from the pile and beginning to fix it upon Tilly's neck. "She told me she hoped for twins at one point. Wanted a boy and a girl, but wanted more to be done with her nightly duties with my father. She had me and that was the end of that."

"A shame, really. Imagine how much more flamboyant a _Dorienne _would have been."

"Perish the thought! I have enough pride and fashion sense for a fleet of daughters. Though I am glad to see my mother can finally indulge in this side of herself."

Elenora pulled out a black cloak with a massive high-necked metal collar, the whole thing made with and trimmed in gold, a massive glittering snake winding down the back. She fumbled with the collar for a time before Dorian helped her put it on, revealing that she was attempting to put it on backwards.

"So," Dorian began now that she was literally cornered, "I notice you've been avoiding the issue of your magic being blocked."

Elenora slumped slightly.

"I...I am. I'd have to face down a Holy Smite to fix it. I confess I'm not quite ready to do so... but I have to. Today, before danger presents itself and I'm unable to help to the fullest of my capabilities."

"Cassandra is to do it, yes?"

"Well she was but... I'm asking Cullen. I trust Cassandra with it but it's hard to explain. It's giving over a piece of myself that makes me, well, me."

"I quite understand. I've been smited once, not a fun experience."

"Really?" Elenora replied, walking over to her mirror to observe herself in the billowing cloak. "When? I'd never noticed you fall in battle."

"It was years ago, when my father...tried to change me. The coward couldn't face me head on so he sent hired goons instead. There was a templar amongst them. I was a formidable mage even then so he had to perform a Smite to take me down. Just one other thing on a long list of things I'll never forgive my father for."

"Remind me to send your father a fruit basket laced with bees."

"Taking notes from our dear Red Jenny, are we?"

"Maybe..." Elenora replied, eyes dancing with mischief. "What was it like? Being cut off like that?"

"Nothing like being Silenced or Dispelled. Those you come back from relatively quickly. Being Smited... it's like the moment you throw yourself awake after a nightmare in the Fade. Out of sorts, slightly ill, no concept of time or reality. It's...not something I wish on anyone," Dorian sighed, wincing.

"Lovely. I'm sure to have a wonderful time this afternoon, then."

Elenora collapsed onto her bed, stars dancing behind her eyes as she pressed herself into the duvet. The entire prospect of this sounded horrible, but then as the days wore on, so did the idea of having her magic permanently locked within herself. It was easy to ignore the dull ache and nausea the first day, but even she had to admit that this was causing quite the issue. She'd sworn to Cassandra and Solas that it wouldn't affect her ability to lead the Inquisition, but now it was. Swinging daggers in the Hinterlands was much harder than it should have been, the spinning and leaping that usually caused her joy now causing her disorientation, vomit threatening to overtake her. At night, as the wandered the Fade, more demons came to her, some getting too close for comfort. It was beyond time to handle this, and she knew, but each time she approached Cassandra to Smite her, the memory of the Seeker in the Fade had her fleeing back to her chambers.

With a heavy sigh, Elenora pushed herself back off the bed, steeling her resolve.

"Okay...okay. I'm going now before I can talk myself out of it for the hundredth time."

"Be brave, amatus. Once your magic is returned you'll ask yourself why you didn't do it sooner."

/

Elenora hugged herself against the wall of Cullen's chambers as he spoke to a few templars. Ser Barris was among them, one of the lucky few to escape Corypheus and his plans. Cullen was using the Inquisition's influence to place Barris at the head of Templar command, something Elenora approved of wholeheartedly since the man treated mages like people who needed protecting, not abominations that others needed protecting from.

As the men finally left the room, she swept in, being sure to lock the three doors to the office.

"My offer for you to move things into my room still stands, you know," Elenora grunted as she locked the final door, the one by the bookcase that always gave her trouble. "Surely our commander deserves some semblance of privacy."

"Tempting as your offer was, it's better that I remain accessible to my men and any visiting dignitaries" Cullen replied, wincing at the last bit as he remembered how shrewdly Leliana had reintroduced him to a handsy noble from Halamshiral.

"That's my little lion, always thinking of others first," Elenora giggled, letting Cullen pull her close.

"Little?" Cullen cried in mock offense. "Pray tell, Lady Inquisitor, just what about me is _little_?" He punctuated the last word by rolling his hips against the Inquisitor's, earning a gasp and a playful slap on the arm.

"Quit it, you! I didn't come up here to be manhandled by Andraste's choir boy turned soldier!"

Cullen pulled away, laughing at Elenora's indignation. She started to grin back, but it faltered as she remembered why she was there.

"Something's wrong."

It wasn't a question, it was a statement. A true one, at that, as Elenora was beginning to resemble a halla trapped between a hunter and their bow.

"At Mythal's Temple... one of the Sentinels...took my magic from me."

Cullen was back on her in an instant, hands about her face, eyes searching hers and, for a moment far too long, locked on the center of her forehead.

"No!" Elenora choked out, seeing where his mind was going. "Not Tranquil. I mean... well I suppose he rather tried. Solas said it's the elves' closest thing to it, but he didn't finish the spell. Now my magic is just... off course. It's sort of locked into place, keeping me from accessing it." _Without causing myself immense pain_, she finished in her head, not wanting to alarm Cullen any further.

"You've been in this state this long? Is there nothing that can be done for it?"

Elenora took in a long, steadying breath.

"Solas and Morrigan believe that if I'm fully cut off from magic, we can right the flow of it. We tried a Silence, it wasn't enough. I even got Vivienne to Dispel my magic on the road one night. That also didn't work. Solas says we need something stronger, a lot stronger. So—"

"A Smite," Cullen finished, sighing.

"You see why I wasn't eager to fix this sooner."

"If there's nothing else for it, it will have to be done. If you want to do this now, I suggest we head up the ladder. It's possible to faint and I don't want you hitting stone after I cast it."

The idea of being concussed after being cut off from the Fade was enough to make Elenora swoon in and of itself, but she was distracted by the rest of Cullen's reply: _after I cast it_.

"Cassandra was going to do it." She blurted out. "I didn't want to worry you with this, though I would prefer greatly if you were the one to— I'm babbling."

She sighed, trying to ignore the somewhat amused look Cullen bore.

"This was supposed to be more difficult, I thought this would be some soul wrenching decision between hurting me and helping me. Or worse that it'd remind you of Kirkwall. I didn't expect you to—"

A kiss, sweet and chaste, stopped Elenora's word vomit. Cullen pulled back, stroking a calloused thumb over her bottom lip.

"I take no pleasure in the idea of causing you any pain, but if I know anything of magic, having it locked within you must be agony. Let me help you."

Elenora was hesistant, but began shuffling toward the ladder under Cullen's insistence. The lump in her throat grew as she approached the bed, standing with the back of her knees pressed to the edge so she'd fall back easily.

"So how does this work?"

"It's as I said, I'll cast and you're likely to be rendered unconscious. I'll be sure to have a healer and potions for you when you come to. Best we get this over with."

Elenora could tell Cullen, too, was nervous, as much as he tried to reassure her. She stood on her toes, placing one last kiss on his lips before she nodded at him.

"I trust you. Do it."

For a moment the Cullen of Kirkwall stared back at her, expression stony. Before she could react, a sound like stone slamming stone rang in her ears, all the air leaving her lungs at once, room swimming as she fell back, everything going black.

/

Sugar. Sugar was the first thing she smelled. The sound of warm laughter and clinking glasses followed. Then the sensation of soft sheets under her hands. Elenora rose slowly, feeling rather like a newborn halla taking its first steps. As the room finally stopped spinning she could tell she was no longer in Cullen's room, but her childhood room in the Free Marches.

She was home.

Something nagged at her, something was horribly wrong, but she couldn't place it, brain still foggy from...from what? What happened before this? What brought her here? The last thing she could remember was the Keeper ordering her to spy on the Conclave, but everything else was fuzzy. Who was Cullen, then, and why was she expecting to wake up in his room?

Slowly she walked downstairs, taking in the familiar sights of her family's stone tower in _Aravel Atish'an_— loosely translated in the common tongue as The Carriage's Rest. It was a small keep by most standards, only meant as a resting place for Elvhen travellers some thousands of years ago, but Clan Lavellan called it home, the crown jewel of their lands in the hills of the Marches. Only the highest families lived in its walls, the rest living in smaller houses in surrounding it, Elenora's family being one of the few to live in the keep. The stone walls were covered in ancient banners: Orlais, Arlathan, and, though Elenora never noticed until now, a tiny one for Tevinter, tucked away in a corner where most would miss it. That banner was new, however, and she couldn't quite place why that made her heart swell. The northerners were monsters, were they not? Surely they had no place in her heart.

As she finally reached the bottom of the stairs, she saw her mother, bent over their kitchen table, placing fresh baked cookies onto a display plate. Beside her, a handsome blonde human was already tucking in, muttering something that made her mother howl with laughter. At first she was alarmed by the shem's presence, half expecting her father to fly into the room and beat her senseless for even being near the man, but the fear settled as she remembered, _he's dead_.

But he hadn't been dead just the day before? How could he be? Before Elenora could puzzle the thought any longer, the man crossed the room, covering her in crumby, sticky kisses. She tensed, but then the smell of him— pine and sword polish, snow and hay— made her relax. _Cullen. My Cullen_.

Slowly, but painfully, memories seeped back into her mind. The Conclave. The Mark. The Inquisition. Haven. Dorian. Solas. Cullen. Adamant. Halamshiral. _The Arbor Wilds_.

There was something about the last one, but it only came in pieces. Something happened there, something that lead to her being here, but every time her mind reached for the answer, she felt further away.

"Elle, I'm glad you're awake."

His voice rumbled in her ears, eclipsing all other thought. He was here, in her home, with her mother. Tears made their way to her eyes, threatening to spill. This was her family, together. The only thing missing was—

A door one flight lower opened, another voice calling up.

"Do forgive my lateness, Tilly simply could not be plied from bed this morning."

"Was it Tilly that couldn't get out of bed, or a certain handsome Altus?" Evara returned to the new voice.

Dorian crested the stairs, white kitten in arm, Fairbanks just behind him. He wasted little time placing a kiss on Evara's cheek and snatching a cookie from where she was neatly stacking them in a tower.

"If you all keep eating them there won't be enough for the rest of the clan!"

"We'll just have to make another batch," Fairbanks said, also stealing a cookie and avoiding being swatted with a wooden spoon.

"Well alright, if everyone is here, it's all hands on deck! Cullen, bring me the sack of flour from downstairs. Dorian, the oven is giving me trouble, can you light it again? And Fairbanks, be a dear and fetch more wood to burn. Elenora you come help me crack more eggs. Tilly...you just sit there and look precious, okay?"

They all set about their tasks, Elenora feeling like fainting from joy more and more by the second. Her family. The one she made for herself. In one place. How had this happened? _When _did it happen?

"Nice that the world is finally quiet enough for moments like this with Corypheus gone," Gwhen'Evara sighed, washing her hands to start a new batch of cookies.

"Corypheus is gone?"

"Of course, you silly girl! But oh, you had such a nasty fever the last few days, you're likely still coming to. Maybe best you don't touch the food. Just have a seat at the table I'll catch you back up."

Elenora sat at the table, eating cookies as her mother filled her in. Corypheus fell. The Inquisition decided to disband before they, too, fell to corruption. She and Cullen married, moving to The Free Marches where they would be close and opening a Templar clinic. The rest of the Rutherfords visited often, as well as other members of the Inquisition, especially Dorian and Fairbanks, whom had taken to living in Fairbank's ancestral estate in Orlais.

"Oh the cold is something awful, and you know I've no love for Orlesians," Dorian sighed as he helped Fairbanks load the oven, "But for him? Anything."

"You're too kind, my love."

Something about Fairbank's voice bothered Elenora a great deal. It was high and haughty, too accented from what she remembered. Everthing about what her mother told her was wondrous: the world was at peace. She had everything she ever wanted laid out before her, and yet something was so...off. None of this felt real, and still she couldn't remember getting here.

Dorian re-lit the oven, and the crackling of magic caught her offguard. But the smell... under the heady scent of sugar and flame was _ozone_. The air was thick with it, settling over her oppressively. It reminded her painfully of—

The Fade

This wasn't real. It couldn't be. This had to be a very elaborate Fade-ruse, but if it was, she was too weak to wake herself or pull the vision apart at the seams. She needed something more concrete, for the _things_ parading around as her family to reveal themselves. She needed to get them to slip up, to make a mistake even they would realize they couldn't cover. Fairbanks' accent could easily be excused away by saying they were spending more time in Orlais. What would a Fade spirit not know about the group?

"Mama, where is father?" Elenora asked innocently, waiting to see a reaction.

"Was the fever that bad, my dear? He's gone. The Venatori took him."

Elenora had to keep her face from slipping. That memory was too obvious, of course they'd know.

Cullen returned with the massive sack of flour, placing it at Evara's feet before washing his hands, ready to jump in.

"How is the clinic, darling? I can't remember how things were going before I got sick."

"Really well! We took in two more men from Orlais just last week. Dorian sent them our way."

"Ah. Have any of our friends come to visit the clinic?"

"Blackwall was the last. Josephine before that, offered some of her connections to keep us funded. Cassandra means to visit as well."

"That's sweet of them. Any word from Bull or Sera? What about Viv?"

"Sera actually joined up with the Chargers if you'd believe it. The Jennies and Chargers have been doing great work together," Dorian pipped up. "Vivienne is serving as Celine's enchantress now that Morrigan has left. She's been busy, but she writes."

"That's wonderful! Good for Viv!"

Elenora was wearing thin. The illusion they were keeping up was actually plausible, if not too good to be true, but there had to be _something_.

She returned to Fairbanks, the weakest part of the ruse.

"What became of your friends in the Inquisition, Fairbanks?"

"They're working on my estate now, under my protection."

"They're lucky to have someone like you. I don't know what any of us would have done if you hadn't saved Dorian from that giant all that time ago."

"It was nothing, I'd have done anything for my Dorian, even then."

"Anything? Like, save him from a dragon?"

"If the occasion called for it, yes, though I'd like to avoid it."

"Really? Because as I recall, it was a dragon you saved him from, not a giant. Anyone in this room should have called you out on that."

Fairbanks' grin fell. Dorian, Cullen, and Evara all stopped what they were doing, staring at Elenora.

"Well spotted," 'Cullen' hissed. The room grew horribly hot, all their bodies shuddering, horns emerging from their foreheads, skin turning purple. Even Tilly changed form into a tiny horned beast.

Desire demons. All of them.

"You couldn't just leave well enough alone, could you?" The demon pretending to be her mother snapped. "Everything you could ever ask for right in front of you, and still you question. We could give you this, truly. Just give in. Why go back to your real life? All that death and strife—"

"Thedas needs me," Elenora snapped back. "I can't just leave on a whim because I'd rather play house. And now that I know this is all a farce, I'll think I'll be going back."

"Oh no you won't!"

They leapt for her, chasing her back up the stairs in a chorus of gnashing teeth and claws. She tried to get the fade to stretch around her, to open a way out or wake up, but she could not, still too weak. The room was a dead end, and she turned to face the demons slowly approaching her.

"Should have let us make it real," Dorian's doppelganger hissed. "Now we'll just have to tear you to shreds. Should be _fun._"

Elenora squoze her eyes shut, willing with everything she had to wake up or at least be able to defend herself. Something surged within her, something great and terrible, but also familiar. Something strong enough to get her out of this trap. She opened her eyes, grin stretching across her face.

"Fun indeed."

A massive rift opened above the demons, lightning striking them down as Elenora cackled.

It was back. Her magic was back.

She didn't stop there, conjuring flames, burning everything in sight in the false room, tearing the lies apart and flexing her mana. She was herself again, she was whole again. Though it pained her to realize that the wonderful life the demons dreamed up for her might never come to pass, she felt relief in the fact she'd be ready to go back to the waking world feeling like herself.

"It will be real someday," She whispered to herself and the ash covered tower. "I'll make it real."

/

Actually waking up was far worse than waking up in the Fade. Nausea swept over the Inquisitor in wave after wave until she keened, tossing her head over the edge of Cullen's bed and retching into a conveniently placed bucket. Clearly Cullen was more than experienced with the effects of the Holy Smite.

"Elle! Are you alright?"

"Yeah, just puking my guts out for shits and giggles. A truly enjoyable experience, really," She responded to Cullen's rather distant-sounding voice. She smiled tightly, doing her best to let Cullen know she meant no ill before vomiting again.

"Is she going to be like this much longer?"

"Coming back from a Smite that strong is...harrowing to say the least. I'm surprised she was only out for an hour."

"I'm lucky to have never been in a situation where this was deemed necessary by our Templars. Darling men and women really, they were excellent at diffusing tensions."

"Ah yes, such a wonderful gilded cage, the Orlesian Circles. Considering how serious amatus's case was, I'm glad we had a merciless Ferelden ex-Templar to crush the magic out of her."

"Dorian, please—"

"It's alright Josephine, I took no offense. You may want to head back down the ladder, though, I can hear Bull and Blackwall causing a scene from here."

"_Arrows sharp and ready, 'This one is going straight IN the commander's arse. This one is going straight UP it.'"_

"Thanks kid, I'll go calm our favorite Red Jenny down. Can't have our Curly maimed while the Inquisitor is incapacitated."

"I've sent a bird down to Morrigan, she's on her way."

"Thank you, Leliana."

"Of course."

Elenora still hadn't opened her eyes, but the cacophony of voices was doing nothing for her pounding headache. She threw her hands over her face, groaning loudly.

"I think it's best those of us not essential take our leave." This was Cassandra's voice, cutting above the din. There was shuffling as her numerous visitors left, and finally she could open her eyes. Cullen was the first person she saw, looking utterly pale and worried. Next was Dorian and Vivienne, standing close, hands locked together, staring down at her like worried parents. Solas was the last, looking calm, appraising her form. He spoke first.

"Cullen summoned us after you fainted. Evidently attacked by demons while wandering the fade. How are you feeling now?"

Elenora sat up with Cullen's assistance, still dizzy, but most of the nausea fading quickly. She took a deep, steadying breath, surprised to find that even with the headache and dizziness she felt...good. Better than good: strong, almost as strong as she'd felt burning down the tower in the Fade. She raised the hand that didn't bare the anchor, snapping her fingers and summoning a sphere of fire. It was unlike her magic from before— somewhat wild and underdeveloped. This was a steady flow, the flame burning white, painful to look at. She dispelled it with barely a thought, the grin she wore in the fade returning.

"I feel like me, again. It worked. Sweet Andraste, it _worked_."

"Fascinating. It seems not only was the flow of your magic restored, but the Smite may have also ridden you of any other blocks holding your magic back."

"No."

It was Cullen, shaking his head fervently.

"The Smite restored her magic, but coming back stronger? That's Elle's doing. Whatever she fought in the Fade, _that_ made her stronger."

Elenora patted the hand Cullen had placed on her shoulder, feeling warm. Morrigan had finally reached Cullen's chambers, seeming weary with the entire scene.

"And just what was it that the Lady Inquisitor conquered in the fade?"

"Fear," Elenora replied before she could stop herself. "There were desire demons, five of them. I took care of the lot of them, but I don't think they really grasped what they showed me. It was everything I'd ever wanted, a perfect life... but it wasn't really about what I desired. It was my fear that it would never be real, that it would only ever exist in the fade, drawn up by demons. I know better now. I've shaped much of Thedas as the Inquisitor, why can't I form my dream of the future too? I've already made my family," She said, chest swelling as she looked back and forth between Dorian, Cullen, and Vivienne. "Who says I can't take down Corypheus and get everyone their happily ever after, too?"

Cullen swooped down, placing a kiss on her cheek, pressing his forehead to hers. It was such a small moment, but one Elenora would hold dear for years to come. The Fade sugarcoated the future she wanted— too perfect, too easy. No, to get even close to that, they'd have to fight. There would be blood and strife, but it would be worth it, and it would be real.

"Touching as this is, the Inquisitor's poor health has caused a fair bit of panic throughout Skyhold. If you're well enough to stand, 'tis best you tell your campanions that you're fairning better."

"What happened?"

Cullen sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"As Solas said, you were...fitful after you fell into the fade. Screaming, actually. A few of our companions ran in to check on you. I couldn't really explain what was happening and after I told them I'd Smited you..."

"Shit. Right. I'll go calm down the masses."

Elenora's legs still felt rather like jelly as she rose from the bed, climbing down the ladder at a painfully slow pace, gripping each rung so hard her knuckles turned pale. When she threw open the door to Cullen's tower, several of her friends tumbled in, clearly having been pressed against the door to try to listen in.

"My lady," Blackwall started, drawing his sword, "we heard the Commander renderedyou unconcious. What—"

"It's alright Blackwall! It's alright everyone, I'm fine. I asked the commander to Smite me."

After meeting several puzzled faces, Elenora began explaining what had passed between Mythal's temple and that moment. As everyone slowly started to relax she couldn't help but feel both proud and loved. These people had her backs, even if it meant cutting down their beloved Commander. One by one they began to depart, satisfied that Cullen had not, in fact, attacked their Lady Herald. As Sera stumbled off, muttering that she'd still have an arrow ready for Cullen if he did ever hurt the Inquisitor, Morrigan approached.

"If that's taken care of, there's another matter that acquires your attention. If you are well enough, that is."

"I am. Still a bit shaky, but after all this I'm ready to get back to business. What can I do for you?"

Morrigan's face fell for a moment, so quick anyone may have missed it before she settled back into her usual look of distant apathy.

"It's my son, Kieran. He journeyed through the Eluvian. He may be in danger as we speak, but before I could follow him through, your commander asked me to be sure you were alright."

"If Kieran is unsafe that's of the utmost importance. I'll get my staff, meet me by the Eluvian in five minutes."

Worry flashed across Morrigan's face, followed by relief.

"Thank you Inquisitor. That means a great deal to me."

/

Elenora had reached a point in her life where if everything she thought she knew wasn't being upended every half an hour, she'd be worried. Kieran had passed through the Eluvian back to another shrine to Mythal, joined by none other than Flemeth herself.

Except Flemeth wasn't just Flemeth. She was also Mythal.

Elenora felt her vallaslin may set on fire the entire time Morrigan and Flemeth argued, wishing she could do more than just stand there, magically frozen by Morrigan's hand as the witch begged for the return of her son. Ultimately, Flemeth relented, returning the boy, but taking the soul of the Old God he carried with him. She had turned to leave, promising that Morrigan had never been in any danger from her when Elenora cried out for her to stop. She did, turning back to the elf with a arched brow.

"If it's as you say," Elenora rasped, trying to stop her voice from shaking, "if you are Mythal...then please... I'm marked for you. I have prayed to you, asked that my loved ones return from battle safely, begged that we might take Corypheus down... Please... I need to know...Will we? Will we succeed against him?"

Flemeth considered the question for a moment, then her strange, smirking smile returned.

"My dear girl, I have heard your cries. You will be tested, against Corypheus, against even those you consider friends. Know that you have been given no task nor hardship in life that you could not handle. Be strong, child."

Before Elenora could ask anything else, she vanished.

/

Dinner in the main hall passed in a blur of clinking plates and glasses. Elenora wasn't sure when she'd moved from the main tower to Herald's Rest, and certainly hadn't kept track of how much gold she'd lost to Josephine as they played Wicked Grace, but she didn't care. Everyone was there, both her inner circle and her advisors, Cullen by her side hiccuping and laughing, his head resting on her shoulder. She felt impossibly warm and whole as she regarded them all: Blackwall and Bull were howling with laughter at one of Varric's tales. Leliana and Josephine were sharing gossip about a rather unfortunate bard they'd both had run ins with in Orlais. Dorian and Vivienne were locked in conversation about an apostate they met at Halamshiral who was proving to be quite the asset to the Inquisition's agents. Fairbanks and Cassandra were complaining to each other about nobles living fat off of their land and family names. Most surprising of all was Solas, Cole, and Sera, tucked together discussing the finer points of unusual battle tactics, specifically the use of bees. As unfortunate the circumstances were with the end of Thedas hanging over their heads, their strange, haphazard group had come to truly be family, and the thought brought a tear to Elenora's eye, one which Cullen sweetly wiped away.

All the warm sentiment and good cheer in the room dropped in an instant as Scout Harding burst into bar, dripping in sweat, eyes full of fear.

"Corypheus," she gasped, "at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. He—"

There was an earth shattering boom outside, causing everyone to rush outside and stare into the sky above.

There, in all it's green horror, was the Breach.

The end had begun.


	16. FIN

The march to the Temple of Ashes was the fastest one yet. No seige equipment or secondary army to slow them down, the Inquisition's forces marched with a purpose. Elenora wore her best armor, her staff, Isana's Song, strapped to her back, ebony blades clenched in her hands. Dorian and Cassandra marched beside her, Solas and Vivienne just behind. The rest of her inner circle was mixed in with the rest of the forces, Cullen's rallying cries echoing in her ears.

Two years had passed with the Inquistion. Two years of fighting, loving, and building a family. Two years of breaking limits and setting the world right. Now, that world dangled dangerously at a precipice. There weren't enough prayers to cover all that Elenora feared to lose.

The first time her swords clashed with what was left of Corypheus's men, she felt rather out of body. How many times had she done this? How many battles had she fought to get here? Once, the thought of killing made her sick. Even as a huntress, she wept the first time she shot down a bird. Now she lead an army as an assassin. Killing was in her very soul, if only it meant righting wrongs and protecting the innocent. Blood covered her hands and armor, and when one of her daggers was whipped away, she rose her staff, bringing down Fade lightning on her assailants. Corypheus's false Archdemon entered the battle. She couldn't comprehend that it would be the ninth dragon she'd felled since joining the Inquisition. She'd heard of this phenomenon before— "battle haze" Bull had once called it. When the stakes were too high to fail, muscle memory took over. It was less fighting and more a dance, cool detachment seeping into her mind as she cut down the swarm of enemies and battled the dragon. When it was near death, it took to the skies, clashing with Morrigan in her dragon form. She pushed toward the steps of the floating temple, stopping only to see Cullen bash a soldier with his shield, one of Sera's arrows finishing the job. All sound faded as she ran toward him, crushing her lips against his, gasping as she pulled away. This was it. Corypheus was all that was left.

"Be safe, my love," Elenora whispered. "And if the worst should come to pass...you shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond. I love you, Cullen."

"Elle...I...I love you."

Elenora pulled herself away, The Elder One's remaining troops still harrowing the Inquisition's.

"Go," she whispered. "Go!"

She turned to run up the stairs, away from Cullen, off to take down the Magister and set the world right. He didn't take his eyes off of her until she disappeared from sight, praying for her safe return. He joined his men, fire in his heart renewed, leaving none of the enemy behind. When the army was crushed, all fell silent. He waited and prayed, eyes pinned to where he last saw the Inquisitor. At once, the earth rocked and the breach slammed closed again. He waited.

Dorian came down first. Then Cassandra, leaning heavily against Blackwall. Vivienne limped down the stairs next, for once absent of her usual haughty air.

Cullen waited, breath held. She had to be okay. Maker, she _had_ to be.

Finally, slowly, clutching her side, Elenora descended the stairs, a weary, lopsided grin slowly streching across her face. He ran to her, sweeping her up and spinning her in a circle, ignoring the ache in his bones and his screaming muscles. She was okay. She'd done it. Corypheus was no more.

"Victorious, I see," Morrigan rasped, finally returning from her battle with the dragon. "What a novel result."

/

Cheers and laughter rang throughout the main hall as everyone celebrated. Elenora was on what had to be her sixth glass of wine, winding through nobles and friends alike, thanking everyone for all their hard work.

"Inquisitor," Leliana said, siding up to her. "A message was delivered to Clan Lavellan, as you ordered. They'll be the first outside of Skyhold to know of Corypheus's fate."

"Thank you, Leliana."

Dorian approached her next, Vivienne and Fairbanks close behind.

"Well, it's been quite the adventure, hasn't it amatus? What will we do with ourselves next?"

"I'm sure there will be more work for us, yet. Although you had mentioned possibly returning to Tevinter. Are you still..."

"Not yet. I will return eventually, of course, but there's still, as you say, more for the Inquisition to do. If I'm to journey anywhere outside of Skyhold soon, it will be to Fairbanks' Orlesian estate, or by your side. My staff is yours, amatus."

"Thank you, Dori, it means the world."

She mingled a while longer, laughing at Varric's promises to write a book on the matter, reassuring Sera that she had a home in Skyhold. Thanking Cole for all he'd done to help. The only one missing was Solas— vanished after the orb shattered. She knew he may leave after the trouble had passed, but it hurt that he didn't even wait until morning. She'd have Leliana attempt to track him down as soon as possible.

Once she was certain everyone else was too preoccupied, she slipped away, back outside, heading for the battlements. A hand grasped hers, stopping her, and she swung about to see Cullen, smiling warmly at her.

"Running off so soon?"

"There was one last matter I needed to take care of. Will you join me?"

"Of course."

They walked along the stone walls, stopping before the sconces lined up on the parapets. Elenora lit a torch with magefire, ensuring that the flames wouldn't burn out before morning.

"For those we've lost," she whispered, lighting the torch Cullen procured as well.

"For Divine Justinia," Cullen murmured, lighting the first sconce.

"For the Templars who fell," Elenora continued.

"For the Seeker Order," Cullen said next.

"For Felix," Elenora sighed.

"For Maddox."

"For the elves lost in time."

"For the mages we've lost along the way."

"For Stroud and the Wardens," Elenora choked out, lighting another flame.

"...For Sulevin Lavellan." Cullen finished, lighting the last sconce.

For a moment, the were silent, arms about each others backs, a tear slipping down Elenora's cheek.

"For the future we build from here," she whispered, pulling Cullen closer.

"And what now?" He asked. "The road from here is shrouded. I never considered what comes after."

"Now," Elenora began, pulling back to look up at Cullen. "We follow that road wherever it takes us. To the end of the Inquisition and beyond."

They stayed like that for some time, wrapped in each other's arms, musing about the future, only the gentle crackling of the flames and the sounds of the late night to accompany them.

_**A/N: Thank you to everyone who read, faved, followed, and reviewed this piece, it means the world. There is a sequel to this, What Comes After, planned out that covers from the fall of Corypheus through the end of Tresspasser, along with multiple companion pieces I detailed out in my author bio. I'm taking a break from this series for now to focus on a personal project as well as to finish an HP fic I started ages ago. Thank you again for reading, and I hope you'll all be back for the sequel.**_


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